


Lords, Lies & Ladybirds

by unforgetabELLE



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Ladynoir July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 34,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforgetabELLE/pseuds/unforgetabELLE
Summary: A girl with a dream and a boy craving an escape both find themselves at Plagg's Players. A group of talented misfits, none bat an eye at the two men who join their theater, despite the costumer's diminutive frame and the newest player's peculiar name.They both have secrets to hide and other lives behind the masks they don, but despite all the reasons they should keep their distance, the pair find themselves drawn to each other again and again.But can love be real when so many secrets exist?





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mari_Poppins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Poppins/gifts).



> This takes place loosely in Shakespearean/Elizabethan England (think late 1500s, but altered because I am not an expert on the period, so any inaccuracies--ie. the Pixar reference halfway in and the fact that Ivan is apparently writing quotes that are Shakespeare's--blame on artistic license)  
> I’ve been watching the TNT series “Will” which is what inspired this (which is where the Reformation-hunting of the Catholics story-line comes from), but you’ve all seen Shakespeare in Love, right? Think that kind of loose take on history!

    Marinette perched on the edge of the fountain. In the center of the town square, it was the perfect location to watch the town drift by to the calm melody that was a Sunday morning. Usually, she was content simply to watch,  smile at the children playing or stare longingly at the outfits of the ladies as they passed, but today she had other diversions. Bending over the small bunch of bound papers her betrothed had gifted her the day before, Marinette’s charcoal stained fingers few across parchment. Her designs small and notations compact to conserve as much space in the precious booklet as possible, she was no less giddy at the prospect of having some implement to carry with her to document her ideas. They had paper in the bakery, of course. Despite it still being a luxury item to some, and certainly intended for men’s use, her father was a learned man and business owner who didn’t always follow the rules. Whether it was marrying her mother on a trip to the orient, teaching his only child to read, or indulging his little Ladybird’s “designing fancy,” Thomas Dupain was a prince among men, even if as second son he’d been relegated to a humbler life than what he’d been raised in. Still, even with her parents’ doting,  a blank book to fill with her ideas was a pleasure Marinette would not soon pass up.

    The clock bell sounded and Marinette looked up in shock, mentally recounting the number of tolls. Had it really been three hours since she left that morning?

    “Wipe that worry off your face, Birdy,” a voice called from her left and Marinette turned to find her best friend Alya, one of the few who knew her peculiar nickname, walking towards her with a small basket. “I came to find you after my meeting, only to be told you’d hadn’t been seen since dawn. But mama Dupain sent us sustenance, so here I am to insist on a picnic.”

    Alya stopped in front of her, waiting while Marinette closed her book and tried to wash her hands in the fountain. Drying them thoroughly on her skirt before slipping her booklet into a hidden pocket she’d added to her frock, Marinette stood and linked her arm with her friend before starting them towards the grassy knoll on the edge of town.

    “How did your meeting go?” She asked once they were away from the crowds of the square.

    “My _suitor_ ,” Alya began with a smile towards Marinette. “Thinks we have a very bright future ahead of us.”

    Marinette shook her head, but couldn’t help but smile back. Alya had plenty of suitors, with her curvaceous figure and connections to nobility abroad, men had been vying for the girl’s hand for as long as Marinette could remember. Luckily for the independent Cesaire girls, they had an overprotective father who had yet to deem a match good enough for any of his four daughters. But, in this particular instance, Marinette knew they weren’t really talking about any of Alya’s potential husbands. Her friend, along with being one of the few women in town who could read and write, was also profusely interested in politics, and as of late, had taken to writing anonymously for a local agency that produced pamphlets once a month. Her analysis on the facade of morality amongst the English lords last month had been so rousing the editor of the pamphlet had quickly commissioned her for the rest of the year. Marinette had never been prouder of her friend, and it gave her hope that maybe her own dreams weren’t so fanciful after all.

    “I’m happy for you,” she squeezed Alya’s arm. “You’ve been practically glowing since your first...meeting. And he’d be a fool not to recognize a gem when he sees one. You’re living your dream.”

    “You could too,” Alya prompted the old discussion, but Marinette didn’t change the topic like she usually did.

    “Maybe,” she allowed. Alya stopped in her tracks, eyes glowing, but as she opened her mouth to respond, they were jostled by a man nearly knocking Marinette over.

    “My apologies,” the man's hands grasped her forearms as he steadied her and their eyes met. Twin green pools stared back at her for a moment, and Marinette was shocked at her own paralysis under his gaze. The man seemed equally frozen, and had Alya not placed a hand on her shoulder in concern, Marinette might have gotten lost in his captivating stare.

Then, a shout sounded from the plaza up ahead and the man seemed to startle out of his stupor. Hurrying a bow in her direction with furthered muttered apologies, he ran away,  disappearing in the maze of alleyways.

    Marinette looked away just as an imposing man barreled into the narrow street, heading in the direction her stranger had fled. Before she had a chance to question it, movement and shouts from up ahead caught her attention, and without a word, Alya was pulling her towards the increasing din in the plaza. Marinette instantly linked their arms back together, recognizing the investigative haze in her friend’s eyes and determined not to lose her in a crowd today. But even as they plunged into the crowd, her mind kept turning back, unable to completely shake the image of the blonde man and the hauntingly familiar quality of his emerald eyes.


	2. Akuma

Arriving in the alley, Alya stood on her tippy toes to peer over the amassing crowd and see the cause of the noise. Marinette didn't bother, knowing with her shorter frame that it is useless to try. Alya was sure to give her a play by play, and she had a suspicion as to what was going on anyway, having spotted the royal guard as soon as they entered the plaza. It was a scene that had become increasingly familiar in the last year and one that churned her stomach everytime. 

The guard had found Catholics.

Or at least, supposed Catholics. The truth didn’t seem to matter to these people as long as they instilled fear in the town. Marinette had watched friends and neighbors she’d known her entire life fall under suspicion during the Queen’s tirade against the supposed traitors. More than a few vanished from their homes, never to return. She and her family were safe as loyalists to the Church of England, but she still hated the spectacle made of the arrests; men who’d never known a single day of hardship or controversy in their life smugly parading out poor souls in shackles whose only crime was believing something different. Something the government had in only decided to make illegal in the last few decades.

Marinette thought of the booklet in her pocket, filled with clothing and costumes she’d never professionally be allowed to create because it simply wasn’t done, and she knew what she saw in front of her was wrong. She felt stifled just not being able to follow her dreams, but to be hunted for your most personal thoughts and beliefs? 

No one should be persecuted for what is in their heart, and even then, Alya had been right her her article. Those who cast stones shouldn't live in glass houses. 

“Disgusting,” Alya scoffed next to her, arms crossed and eyes trained on the man who must have been the highest ranking official and leader of the raid. With A crisp white collar and expensively tailored suit of the finest black fabric she’d ever seen, Marinette was inclined to agree. The man’s silver hair was clean and combed back with precision and his chin lifted in superiority even as his eyes cast downwards at the restrained group in front of him being led into a caged transport trailer of rotted wood and rusted metal. The door slammed. Their fate sealed with a shrill scream and bang of the metal gate, and the man’s indifferent expression broke momentarily to allow a sadistic smirk, before he gave a signal with a flick of his hand and the whole group departed the square, leaving only the jostling of a quietly murmuring crowd.

She watched the man walk unhurriedly--unconcerned--to his simple, but clearly costly, carriage and caught just the flicker of annoyance on the man’s face as the grim line of his mouth spat irritated words at whoever was waiting within. The exchange was over in the blink of an eye, but while the rest of the square had turned away, moved on with their chores for the day, Marinette felt herself watching the austere carriage depart, befuddled by the glimpse of blonde hair on the blurry figure of a man within and mentally admiring the way he’d been able to quietly irritate the silver-haired lord. 

“Mari,” Alya said, apparently not for the first time, as she waved a hand in front of Marinette’s face and successfully snapped her out of her trance. “Did you even hear me?”

“No,” she admitted, her eyes flickering back to where the carriage had left. “Did you know them? The family?”

Alya sighed, nodding her head, and Marinette linked their arms again as they started to walk away. Her friend may be higher born than many in town, but Alya’s natural inquisitiveness made her friends wherever she went.

“Did you know they were…”

“No, but does it matter?”

“No,” Marinette agreed.

“And you know what? I wouldn’t be surprised it  they weren’t!” Marinette watched Alya’s mind churn through a new theory and dutifully kept quiet. “Alix isn’t exactly a calm and obedient maid. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d just offended the wrong person.”

“You think the crown would do that?”

“I think the longer this damn witch hunt goes on, the more and more I’ll start to believe our good and just rulers are capable of just about anything,” Alya’s mouth set determinedly, and her chin lifted in defiance. “And I know exactly what I am going to do about it.”

Marinette stared at her, pride overshadowing the worry she felt over her friend’s rebellious spirit. How many times had she wished she could be as bold? Marinette was no hardened investigator or skilled writer like Alya, but she had talents and could challenge the status quo of their world in her own way, if only she knew how.

“What?” Alya looked down at her with half a smile. “No warnings or words of caution? I’m not sure whether to be grateful you believe in me or worried that you don’t care.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes and poked her friend’s side.

“You know I trust you not to be too foolish, and of course I care, but I was actually thinking that I am very proud to be your friend.”

“Aw, Birdy--”

“No, honestly! You’re living out the dream you’ve held since we were girls, and while the smallest part of me is envious, I am mostly extremely proud of all you are accomplishing.”

“I don’t know why you’re envious when you could be doing the same.”

“Oh? Does your  _ suitor _ require clandestine tailoring, too? Saving the monarchy from moral ruin, one petticoat at a time?”

Alya rolled her eyes, but chuckled at her friend’s antics. 

“There are far more ways for you to realize your designing dreams than costuming spies. Not everyone was born to a life as dramatic as mine,” Alya flipped her hair over her shoulder, but paused suddenly in her movements before turning slowly back to Marinette with a grin spreading across her face. “But then again, maybe dramatics is  _ exactly _ what you need.”

Marinette looked over her friend’s shoulder and instantly spotted what had caught her attention. Three men, young and jovial in flamboyant but outdated attire that clearly marked them as actors, walked down the street joking and exchanging...well, questionable prose. Alya couldn’t honestly mean…

“ _ Costuming in costume _ ,” Alya mused as she separated their arms to step back and size Marinette up, chin in hand and eyes narrowed in concentration. Eyes glancing back at the retreating men before returning to Marinette’s shocked face. “Yes, I think a life of  _ drama _ is definitely what you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really an akuma, but Gabriel being Hawkmoth-ish? ...Just go with it ;)


	3. Lucky Charm

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Marinette fidgeted with the belt on her pants and the billow of her sleeves as Alya checked that her hair was completely hidden under the cap she’d donned. It was an older hat, too large and definitely out of fashion, but at Marinette had a mass of hair and this was the best compromise they could find. 

“It’s not a good idea,” Alya reminded her for the hundredth time. “It’s a brilliant idea.”

She stepped back, surveying her work and then nodding.

“Okay, now, remember how we practiced. Head up. Shoulders back, and for the love of god, try not to walk like a woman.”

“Thank you. Very descriptive and helpful,” Marinette muttered, near a growl. Unfortunately, only ever having been a  _ woman _ , walking like anything else wasn’t exactly in her wheelhouse of skills.

“And perfect, talk just like that,” Alya grinned. “Low and quiet. Better for them to assume you just aren’t chatty than for them to find you feminine.”

“I’m here to sew, not to make friends,” Marinette repeated the mantra to herself, trying to focus on living her dream and finally being given free reign to create instead of the danger of what she was doing.

“Exactly,” Alya agreed with a smile, but Marinette barely heard her from where she was mentally spiraling down a hole of worst-case-scenarios.

“Alya, maybe this isn’t--I mean what if I can’t--”

“Are you afraid of getting caught or being bad at it?” Alya leaned down to look directly in her eyes and Marinette realized the answer instantly, and while being discovered was a risk, it wasn’t what had thrown her into a circle of anxiety.

“Because if it’s the former, no one is forcing you to do this. You can leave at any time, go back to your normal life, and no one will ever be the wiser,” Alya continued with a knowing smile on her face. “But if it’s the latter, then you are absolutely wrong, because I’ve already seen what you are capable of and am beyond certain that you are going to be the finest customer this town has ever seen. And have I ever been wrong?”

“No,” Marinette admitted with a reluctant smile.

“No,” Alya smiled. “Oh! And you’ll have this!”

Alya reached into the small bag at her side, producing a small pin with a painted wooden ladybird on the tip.

“One of Nora’s more eager suitors brought this back for her from his trip...before she had officially turned him down,” Alya reached to un-clip Marinette’s overcoat and secure the small pin within. “She told me to give it to my friend with that ‘ _ funny nickname _ ’, and since you told me they were good luck, I figured we could use all the help we could get.”

Alya did her coat back up and Marinette placed a hand over where the pin sat near her heart, wondering how she’d been so lucky to have found a friend like Alya. 

“Ready, Birdy?” Her voice was low and encouraging and Marinette took a deep breath. 

“Birdy?” A voice from behind them sounded, and Marinette spun to find the door to the theater open, a stout man peering at them from the illuminated doorway in suspicion. Alya quickly made her excuses and disappeared down the street, leaving Marinette to fend for herself. They had agreed it would be better if they weren’t seen together while she was in costume, but she still spared a glare towards her friend’s retreating form as she left her to deal with the mess she’d just inadvertently created. 

“B-B-Bertie!” Marinette exclaimed quickly, feeling the elaborate cover story of the fictional ‘John Farlowe’ that she and Alya had carefully concocted fade away as she did. “Albert Thomas,” Marinette murmured, trying to negate the shrill voice that had just escaped her lips as she stuck a hand out towards the man. “Your new costumer.”

The man didn’t accept her hand, but after a moment of suspicious perusal, did usher her into the theater. Plagg, as he’d introduced himself, gave her a brief tour of the house as he regaled her with how their last man had ‘found god’ and now ‘spat’ on the ‘immorality and vanity’ of their theatre. He glanced at her as he ranted, and Marinette made sure to scoff and grunt in agreement at all the appropriate moments, all the more thankful when he finally led her to the wardrobe.

“Repair those by tonight, and the job’s yours,” Plagg pointed to a large pile in the corner of the loft, and before Marinette even had a chance to question what exactly was in need of repair, the man was gone, descended back to the stage where Marinette already heard rehearsal beginning.

With a sigh, she got to work, and in no time fell into the engrossing rhythm she adored so. The rip of stitches and the snip of thread lulling her into a peaceful tranquility, it was deep into the night before the sounds of the men’s performance ended downstairs and Plagg  peeked back into the loft. He took one look at the costumes, now carefully hung on whatever pegs were available or stacked on a desk, each impeccably mended and more than a few embellished with pieces from a scrap pile, before turning her her with a nod.

“See you tomorrow,” he stated simply, turning to leave without further acknowledgement of her work. Marinette waited until he’d disappeared back down the ladder before letting her face split into a smile, hopping up and down in her quiet celebration. She’d done it!

With a few calming breaths, she composed her face as much as possible before grabbing her satchel and blowing out the candle. Still riding on a high, she barely noticed the two men lingering in the hall on her way to the door and doesn’t have time to slow before running straight into one. Her eyes widened as she caught the man’s profile, the golden hair and green eyes undoubtedly familiar to her, but ducked her head before his gaze turned towards her. 

With a muttered apology, she rushed out the door. Hat pulled  low and hand clutching her lucky charm through her jacket, she cursed at herself for ever thinking this might be so simple.


	4. Clumsiness

Adrien slumped on the the hard seat of the coach, staring out the window and steadfastly ignoring his father where he glared at him from the opposite bench. Gabriel insisted on taking Adrien on more raids, but thankfully had ceased pontificating on the worthiness of his duty on these excursions, as it was clear that his words weren’t doing much to convince his only son and heir on the merits of his ‘sacred office’. One day, as he was frequently reminded, Adrien would be Lord Agreste, and he was happy to let his father believe these “educational escapades” were helping to  prepare him for his future post so long as they got him out of the house. Ever since his mother had been killed in supposed retaliation for his father’s execution of some prominent leader of an underground group of Catholics, Gabriel had put his only child on veritable house arrest. Over the years, Adrien had formed a list of escape routes from his gilded prison, but as he got older, and his father looked at him more and more to begin demonstrating the responsibility befitting his future station, route after route was slowly being discovered, and blocked. A part of Adrien wanted to scoff at his father’s ridiculous attempts to patch holes in a sinking boat on fire--clearly Adrien’s moonlit walks are not the root of their problems--but it honestly wasn’t worth the energy. Besides, in a way his strategy worked: It got Adrien to agree to accompany him on his work outings, if only to appease Gabriel just enough.

Still staring out the small window, and trying not to feel too manipulated by his own blood, Adrien was roused out of his musings by his father’s voice.

“Are you accompanying me today?” 

“No,” he answered automatically, harboring absolutely no desire to watch his father tear yet another sobbing family from their home and loved ones.

Adrien turned only to see Gabriel’s indifferent expression carefully hiding the judgement in his eyes. He never did understand why Adrien didn’t share his hatred of the traitors, the very people that had killed his mother, but Adrien had spent enough time alone with his books and his thoughts to have come to terms with the events that ripped the only person he’d ever truly loved from the world. His father had killed someone they loved. In vengeance, they had killed someone he loved. Even if their true intention had been to kill Gabriel, which Adrien has always suspected, the debt had been paid. Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth. 

While Gabriel had let a simple duty be turned into a personal vendetta, Adrien refused to follow in his footsteps and perpetuate the cycle of violence.  He’d lived the past few years in near isolation and learned first hand how sitting and stewing in your problems was likely just to drive you mad. Introspection was only helpful up to a point before a person needed to interact with other human beings to be sane as well as wise.

It was why when his father left the carriage with hardly a backwards glance, Adrien waited the appropriate amount of time before slipping out the other side and away from the well-meaning, but easily distracted, eye of his guard. He walked gingerly a few steps, before dashing down the closest alleyway...which would have been a smooth exit had he actually bothered to look where he was going. As it was, instead of pulling off the great escape, he nearly toppled over some poor maiden and her friend. 

“So sorry,” he reached instinctively to steady her and then just as quickly dropped his hands, not at all sure of what the etiquette was with females one did not know. Despite being one of the most sought after, yet elusive, men in town, the only son to a prominent fortune and title, Adrien was decidedly hopeless with any woman that was not Chloe, arguably his only friend and certainly the only woman he saw on a regular basis. 

And despite all the joking between them, and not so subtle hints from her father, Adrien had never seen Chloe in anything more than a sisterly way. Yet one glance at this woman, with exotically slanted eyes bluer than the clearest sapphire, had Adrien forgetting all pretense of decorum. 

A shout from behind him, broke him from his stupor, and with a hasty bow, Adrien continued down the alley, away from his guard but also away from the enchantingly beautiful girl. He shook his head as he turned a corner down an impossibly narrower street. If one look was all it took to send him into poetic ramblings, clearly he needed to get out more. Adrien looked up, refocusing on his escape, only to find he’d cornered himself into a dead end. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he heard his guards footfalls far too close to consider doubling back and looking for an alternate route.

Halfway through a muttered curse at his short-lived freedom, Adrien felt a hand wrap around his arm and yank him behind a cleverly camouflaged break in the wall. He struggled momentarily,  but a hand descended on his mouth effectively silencing him as a man’s voice quietly shushed him from behind. His guards footsteps paused, most likely at the mouth of the alley, before resuming at a twofold pace down the road and away from his hiding spot. The man behind him relaxed, releasing his hold as he pushed to peak out into the alley.

“All clear,” he held open the fabric door and Adrien got a good look at him for the first time. Taller than he and built with a lean strength, the man had a darker complexion than was fashionable, but a kind smile that put Adrien at ease. He seemed to be similarly sizing Adrien up, which was why his next words weren’t a surprise.

“You look pretty clean to be a thief,” he pursed his lips and lightly punched Adrien’s arm. “But I felt those arms, and you're not scrawny enough to be one of those weakling lord-ettes.”

Adrien smirked, grateful for some of the bulk built up from the swordplay his father insisted on. It had helped him on more than one precarious escape from the estate, and apparently was a good cover as well, not that anyone really knew what the young Lord Agreste truly looked like. 

“I’m just you’re run of the mill man of mystery,” Adrien settled on and the man smiled at that.

“Well I’m not,” he stuck out his hand. “Name’s Nino. Nino Lahiffe.”

“Chat,” Adrien grasped Nino’s hand, choosing the first name that came to mind: his cat’s. “Chat Noir.”

Nino’s smile only widened, clearly spotting a lie when he heard it.

“Quick,” he observed, nodding his head in approval. “I like you, Chat, or whatever your name is. If you ever decide to escape your guard again and want to learn something from a professional liar, come find me.”

“He’s not my guard,” Adrien started, but Nino just took one look down at the man’s perfectly fitted and pressed clothes and chuckled.

“Can’t fool a jester, brother,” he playfully punched Adrien’s arm, but when his guard’s footfall’s seemed to be making a comeback, Nino quickly pushed past him and started towards the dead end of the alley. “But seriously! Plagg’s Playhouse! We’re having a reading tonight. You should try to come. Willow and Second! Toll twice!”

And then, with the loping grace of a gazelle, the man vaulted over the wall and out of sight just as his guard rounded the corner and Adrien’s fun for the day was officially over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Happy 4th to any American readers!!


	5. Bell

Adrien ran a nervous hand through his hair before shaking it haphazardly and glancing down at his clothes. He’d taken the ‘jump over the back wall’ route of escape that night, and while it left him covered in ivy leaves with knees stained with dirt from a few slips in the garden, all he had to do was remember Nino’s notice of his daywear earlier to realize a little filth would probably be for the best. All he wanted was one night of people looking at him like a person, not the heir to a title or son of a...well, a saint or the devil, depending on the crowd. Adrien still couldn’t decide what was worse, the open scorn or idol worship with which people often regarded Gabriel, and Adrien by extension. 

But tonight, he wasn’t Adrien, son of Lord Agreste. Tonight he was Chat Noir, kinda-friend of the man called Nino and just an average guy.

He stopped at the cross street Nino had specified, and with a single glance around, finally understood his subsequent instructions. Hanging above a small side door was an antiquated iron bell which, after allowing himself only a moment’s hesitation, Adrien rung twice.

A muffled shuffle was followed by a low creak as the wooden door swung inward to reveal a slight man with aquiline features and a shock of red hair tied at the nape of his neck. His brow furrowed and mouth opened, and Adrien could tell from the look on his face that he was about to be told to get lost, when a familiar face appeared over his shoulder.

“My man!” Nino’s brilliant smile immediately put Adrien at ease as he gently pushed the redhead aside.

“Nathaniel, Chat. Chat, Nathaniel. He’s cool,” Nino introduced them, giving Nathaniel a reassuring look as he pulled the nervous blonde boy into the building and addressed him directly. “Welcome to Plagg’s Players! Home to ruffians, thugs, and liars alike.”

_ “Actors,” _ Nathaniel stage whispered to Adrien with a wink, and he tried not to let his surprise show.

“This is a theater?” Adrien looked over at Nino who just grinned at him.

“I told you I thought you’d have a career as a professional liar. Where else would I bring you? Now this,” Nino led them into the main room and his voice fell to a whisper as the sounds of other men echoed towards them from the stage. “This is our sanctuary.”

Adrien stopped at the back of the standing section, gaping at the scene before him. It wasn’t grand like the few theaters Adrien had been in, on the few occasions the subject matter had not been deemed too vulgar by his father. It was dirty, with wood beams darkened by god-knows-what and floors scuffed, warped and dented. The walls were a dull, yellowish plaster and the sparse draping of fabric around the stage had the effect of making the whole room look more disheveled instead of ornate. 

No, it wasn’t the setting that stopped him in his tracks, it was the way the room pulsed with life. Men waltzed across the stage in a constant flurry of movement as they peeked at a bundle of papers held by a large man in the center before laying down lines as if they were coming up with them off the top of their head. It was a scramble of chaos, the actors joking and improvising as they went, but somehow managing to orbit each other in an engrossing and whimsical narrative. 

Nino had nudged him with a smirk before jogging to join in on the revelry, looking over the shoulder of the man with the script and calling out his lines with the perfected timing of someone completely at ease in his element. Even Nathaniel, the introspective-looking man who had answered the door with a scowl seemed to come alive on the stage, his features morphing into one of wonder that perfectly reflected the character of the maiden he was inhabiting. 

The scene unfolded as Adrien slowly made his way towards the scene, marveling at how he’d lived his life thus far without experiencing this.

“ _ Taurus! _ ” Nino called, and when no one immediately jumped into the roll, Adrien leaned into impulse. Vaulting onto the stage with the ease of someone used to jumping over much higher walls, he followed the men’s lead and glanced over the shoulder of the man who must be the playwright at the center, eyes scanning for the line.

“ _ My lord? _ ” He responded, head inclining in a bow towards Nino. His lips twitched in amusement, but he remained in character, stepping forward to address the new personage on stage.

“ _ Strike not by land… _ ” 

And the scene continued. It ended up being his character’s only line, but by the end, Adrien found himself invigorated in a way he’d never remembered being before.

“Good work!” A stout man entered the heart of the theater, keen eyes alight despite the stern expression on his face. “Ivan, fix that second to last scene. She’s a queen, not some simpering maid.”

“No problem, Plagg,” the playwright, Ivan, nodded, before walking backstage and grabbing his things. 

“Oh, and Nino,” the man called before turning to leave the room. “Fresh meat can stay.”

Plagg, who must have been the proprietor let a small smile slip as he nodded at Adrien while Nino called a quick thanks to his retreating form. Once out of sight, his new friend let out a deafening whoop.

“New player initiation!” His voice cried even louder, bolstered by the responding jeers of his new colleagues. 

_ Friends _ , the word floated through Adrien’s mind and he couldn’t hide his smile as Nino started pulling him out of the room, already lagging behind the over-eager horde of actors heading for the nearest pub. 

He was just turning to grab the vest he’d discarded about halfway through the night when a small boy knocked into him from the side. He took a moment to right himself before turning to check on the well-being of the small battering ram, but the child, perhaps a teenager from the looks of his wiry frame, was already fleeing. He was nearly out the door before Adrien heard the muttered apology or spotted the long wisp of hair escaping his oversized hat.

“Who--”

“The new costumer, I think,” Nino readily answered, and Adrien tried to shake off any strange feeling of familiarity as his new friend led him down the street, and he celebrated the start of a new era in his life. 


	6. Secrets

Over the next two weeks, Marinette did her best to keep her head down, disappearing into the costume loft well before the actors arrived, and making sure not to leave until every last one of them was gone. The only person she saw even somewhat regularly was Plagg’s wife, Tikki, and even she only interrupted Marinette to make sure she remembered to eat. Marinette had to admit she liked the woman, petite and nearly as silent as she had learned to become. While Plagg was the owner, his wife was clearly the backbone of the establishment, but as kind as she was, Marinette couldn’t help but feel far too  _ seen _ each time she dropped off her small cakes with a wink. Marinette was touched by her concern and motherly notice of the costumer’s habit of working herself with abandon, but the last thing she needed was another person suspicious of her identity. She already had the blonde boy to worry about. 

She’d seen him again. With the amount of time as she spent at the theater as of late, it would be impossible not to, and despite his questionably disheveled and less cleanly appearance, Marinette knew with a certainty that burned through her that he was the same man that ran into her that day on the street. The same golden hair, and the same emerald eyes, just staring back at her in the clothing of common folk. Marinette didn’t know which version was truth, nor did she have the luxury of finding out. She avoided interaction with the other men as much as she could, but she hid from him like the specter of death himself. She was finally making something of her skill, and one accidental meeting on the street had the potential to rip it all away. So she stayed silent, and watched her steps, ignoring the not always unpleasant way his presence made her heart clench and praying he wouldn’t remember the stranger on the street, much less recognize her in her disguise.

When, a few days before opening night, the actors started coming in to be fitted into their perspective costumes, Marinette was a mess. While she knew players with minor parts like his were responsible for their own costumes, she still watched from the darkest corner of what she’d come to regard as  _ her loft _ as each appointment ascended the ladder, only feeling her heart start to beat again when she was certain it was not him. Not...Chat, as she remembered the others referring to him. Her nose crinkled just thinking of the name. It was strange, no doubt, but that wasn’t what bothered her. It had to be a nickname as surely no one would name their child ‘cat’, but if it was only a stage name why did it.. _.fit so well _ . 

“Do I smell?” The man standing above her asked, taking note of her expression with furrowed brows. She could tell he was joking, but ever the thespian, moved to sniff his underarm. Marinette managed to surpass her smile, shaking her head  _ no _ at Nino. He was definitely her favorite of the small theater family, but also the one she was in the most danger of forgetting herself around and blurting out responses in her normal voice. 

“Are you sure? I think tonight is the night that I ask your fair  _ cousin _ for her hand in marriage.”

Marinette paused from where she was mending Nino’s pantaloons, to look up at the man with a raised eyebrow. Unfortunately, Nino had spotted Marinette saying goodbye to Alya one day what the girls had both assumed was a safe distance from the theater. It hadn’t been, and had taken the most words Marinette had spoken in her entire time at the theater to convince the man that the parting hug between the two did not mean the beauty was her betrothed, but rather her cousin. While he eventually let it go, now the man didn’t bother to hide his infatuation, constantly claiming that today would be the day that he would win Alya’s heart.

Marinette straightened, looking Nino up and down in exaggerated appraisal, before giving him a disbelieving look. Nino pouted in response.

“Have some faith, my friend! Under this shabby facade, I  _ ooze _ charm.”

Marinette ducked her head, hiding her smile and shooed him towards the ladder, the hole in his costume fixed sufficiently to last the rest of the performance 

“You’re done. Go ooze charm on stage.”

He flashed her his best smile before scampering down the ladder for his character’s reappearance. Marinette hesitated, but followed along in case there be another costume issue.

Other than Nino’s unfortunate run in with Kim’s far too realistic prop sword, their opening night was going off without a hitch, and Marinette had heard more than one appreciative gasp over Nathaniel’s gown in particular. But while her costumes created that initial impact, the actors truly drove it home. 

By the end of the play, Marinette was so engrossed in the performance, clapping furiously, she hadn’t even realized someone had sidled up next to her.

“They were really good, weren’t they?”

She turned to find Chat, face open and earnest as he awaited her verdict, and for a moment,she forgot that she was supposed to be avoiding him.

“You  _ all _ were.”

“I only had one line,” the man ducked his head, hand rising to rub the back of his neck nervously, and Marinette had to stop herself from lifting a hand to his arm in comfort.

“And you supplied it perfectly,” she risked a smile at him and was rewarded with one in return. She’d maintained eye contact for far longer than she should have and was trying to find the will to look away when Ivan’s booming voice saved her. 

“Brilliant, boys!” The large man stampeded backstage. “Drinks on me!”

Chat turned to her in question, and she searched her brain for some excuse that wouldn’t completely demolish the friendly, hopeful look on his face, but any words she’d found fell unused from her mouth as a far too familiar face strode back stage. His blue eyes scanning the dimly lit antichamber, Marinette’s veins seemed to freeze even as her body felt suddenly emerged in flames of panic.

“Bertie?” Chat’s concerned voice broke through her haze.

“I have to go,” she responded in a deep whisper, grabbing her sewing kit off the prop table where she’d left it and fleeing. Marinette felt her vest snag on something there, doubtless another casualty of Kim’s sword, but despite hearing the fall of more than one button, she did not stop.

Because while Chat clearly didn’t recognize her from before,  her betrothed definitely would. 


	7. Partners

Adrien watched the peculiar man rush off, tearing his vest and nearly knocking the entire prop table to the ground in his haste, and felt his face fall. He seemed to get along well enough with the rest of the players, but Adrien was starting to get the feeling that Bertie was deliberately avoiding him. As if he were...afraid? But then he remembered catching him applauding the cast, finding him in a moment when his guard was clearly down, and there was something so easy and familiar about talking with him. Bertie had finally seemed at ease around newest player, until something changed. Until he got spooked, Adrien realized, remembering the way the man’s eyes had darted over his shoulder, widening in shock before he spun and fled. 

Adrien risked a glance in that direction and his eyes landed on the stranger who must have set Bertie off: tall, with hair so black it shone nearly blue in the candlelight. While the man was not bulky, he certainly exuded a confidence as he moved with a lithe strength. He walked with the bearing of an upper class upbringing, but his eyes shifted so intelligently around the room, assessing it from all angles, Adrien found himself wondering if the man was part of the royal guard. Perhaps Bertie had seen the same, and had reason to fear.

When the man spotted Nathaniel, though, and all his keen focus shifted to the shorter man as he stooped to quickly embrace him, shouting compliments over the din of backstage, and Adrien sighed, turning away to right the mess of props that had fallen. Clearly the man was a friend of Nathaniel’s and no threat, but Adrien did still begrudge his appearance.

He got on very well with everyone at the theater...everyone but Bertie, the costumer who, despite having started at the theater not long before him, seemed to have already won the respect of all the players, and the friendship of more than a few. Nino was included in this exclusive group and seemed to find it hilarious that Adrien was so fixated on befriending the quiet man to no avail.

The tingling hint of familiarity the few times they did cross paths made Adrien worry that he’d somehow offended the man in the past without even realizing it, but seeing as Adrien barely ever left the house when he wasn’t ‘Chat’ and that he certainly didn’t interact with those below his class when he did, he quickly dismissed the notion. 

Shaking his head in confusion, he was picking up the last prop—Kim’s not-as-dull-as-he-promised sword—when he noticed something else on the ground. A button, from where Bertie’s vest must have popped, and something far more interesting. A pin with a small wooden insect painted a vibrant red on the tip. A ladybird, Adrien recognized the creature after a moment, remembering the particular coloring from one of his books. Another moment later, he realized it must have fallen from Bertie’s vest along with the button.

Adrien glanced up towards the door through which the man had disappeared only a minute before, and deliberated. He didn’t want to follow a man who had seemed to be doing his best at avoiding the newest player, but then again, the pin looked valuable and was no doubt sentimental. It wouldn’t be right to let him believe he’d lost it…

Mind made up, he stood and strode towards the door, not stopping to say goodbye to his cast mates as he started to jog in the direction he usually saw Bertie leave. He could probably catch him before he got too far.

Adrien had jogged a few blocks and nearly had dismayed of finding the man when a sound echoed from an alley and his eyes spied the top of a familiar hat from behind a stack of crates.

“Damn,” a higher voice than expected echoed towards him as he started down the alley, freezing as the stack of crates toppled to the ground.

Behind them, waist length hair hanging in a tangled curtain and throwing her face into shadows, was unmistakably a woman. Blouse only half-tucked, and skirt rumpled, Adrien stared as the maiden struggled to untangled herself from the mess of crates while stuffing Bertie’s signature hat into a bag at her side. 

“Bertie?” He finally found his voice, all his suspicions confirmed as the woman looked up at him with the same wide eyes that had haunted him for a week, but that he could only now place. 

The girl from the street.


	8. Hand kiss

Marinette froze in her movements as soon as she heard the voice say her name. Not just any voice.  _ His voice _ . 

Skirt only partly secured, and hair a twisted mess from having been stuffed in her hat all day, she certainly didn’t look like the respectable young woman he’d run into on the street that day weeks ago, but she just as certainly didn’t look like the man she’d been leading him to believe she was either. 

“I can explain,” she begun, just as he said, “You’re the girl.”

“Yes, I’m a girl,” Marinette confirmed, trying to take a step forward, but finding her skirts still tangled in the crates she’d knocked over. “But please, you can’t--”

“No,” he shook his head, confusion finally starting to clear in his eyes. “ Not  _ a _ girl.  _ The _ girl! You’re the girl from the street that day!”

Marinette felt her heart falter in her chest as she heard the near awe in his voice. Even though her worst fear was realizing itself in front of her very eyes, some traitorous part of her rejoiced that he had remembered. That he’d seemed as stuck by her as she had been by him.

“Yes,” she confirmed, a small smile coming to her face as a grin stole over Chat’s expression. Then, true to his name, he scrambled with a feline grace towards her, hopping over the mess she’d created until he was directly in front of her. Bowing at the waist like the finest gentleman, he held out an open palm. Courteous to a fault, Marinette instinctively placed her hand in his, although the formal greeting seemed out of place in the darkened alley at sometime near midnight. 

“A pleasure to meet you…” He paused, straightening and looking at her in confusion. “I suppose your name isn’t Bertie, then?”

“You can call me...Ladybird,” she supplied hesitantly. 

“Ladybird,” he repeated with a smile, cupping her hand between both of his in such an earnest gesture Marinette nearly forgot why she had hidden from those eyes for so long.

Nearly. 

“Chat,” she squeezed his hand between hers and threw decorum aside, stepping even closer to him. He already knew she disguised herself as a man and worked illegally as a costumer. A charge of impropriety was the least of her worries. “Please, you can’t tell anyone. Please. Sewing...Creating...It’s my dream, and as a woman…”

“You’re expected to be one thing when all you dream about being is something completely different?”

“Yes,” she gasped out, daring to let herself believe that he understood, that the kindness and camaraderie she found in his eyes were true.

“I understand better than you would believe,”  he squeezed her hand back and smiled. “Do not fear, M’Lady. Your secret is safe with me. That’s what... friends are for, right? ”

Chat’s face peered down at her, its expression blindingly hopeful yet unsure. She’d heard the way he’d halted over calling her a friend, and suspected he was still unsure if her standoffish behavior was a response to him, or merely a self-preservation mechanism to protect her identity. She’d also watched him throughout the week, and while the other players had accepted him without question, he seemed on edge around them. It was as if he was waiting for the wool to be pulled off, only to find none of it was real. Despite his apparent joy around others, Marinette could tell he was a man used to solitude, but looking at how he thrived on stage, she couldn’t imagine anyone being able to deny him that happiness. She wondered who could meet him and not immediately want to lose themselves in the sunny glow of his smile for an eternity.

“Thank you, my  _ friend, _ ” she breathed out, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as a burden fell from her shoulders. Chat’s responding resplendent smile was all she needed to confirm her suspicions, and she instantly knew she wanted to make sure this man was surrounded with the love and friendship he clearly craved so desperately.

“And now, I must insist on escorting  _ my friend _ home.”

“Oh no, I’m--” Marinette cut off, a loud whistle coming from the mouth of the alley as a group of drunkards peered down, took in Marinette’s disheveled state and Chat’s proximity, and made their own assumptions. “Actually, yes. Please.”

Chat smiled gratefully at her, grabbing her bag as she finished securing her skirt and twisted up her hair into something halfway respectable.

“Oh, and this!” Chat held up his hand, and Marinette could just make out the colors of Alya’s ladybird pin in the dim light.

“My charm!” Her hand automatically flew to her breast, where the pin clearly no longer was, watching as Chat reached down and attached it inside her satchel where he had it slung over his shoulder.

“There. Safe and hidden,” his eyes lifted to hers again, mischievous in the low light. “But no less lucky.”

She watched him through narrowed eyes as he again bowed over a proffered hand. Pursed lips hiding a smile, she shook her head at the way he’d gone from innocent boy to absolute trouble with just the quirk of his lips and slant of his eyes.

“Are you saying you believe in lucky charms, minou?” She asked, slipping her hand into his and blushing as he brushed his lips across the top. Eyes peering up at her from underneath a mop of golden hair, he responded easily.

“I do now. I’ve found myself a Ladybird, haven’t I?”


	9. Claws and bugs

“Ouch!” Nino whined as she stuck him with another pin. “I know it’s a recent script change, Bertie, but you did hear my character doesn’t get stabbed to death anymore, right?”

Marinette paused, glaring up at him from where she knelt next to his leg, but saying nothing. Nino, usually her perfect mannequin, had been a pain in her neck today. Hands waving as he talked animatedly about some street musicians he’d met the other night, Marinette usually would have no problem keeping the boy motionless while still letting him gush about his newest acquaintances. She and the theater’s star player had found a balance between them in his many fittings, and after Nino’s squirming drew blood during his first fitting, she had he learned his lesson: he could jabber as much as he wanted as long as he remained still as a statue.

But no, here he was, reciting from his frighteningly accurate memory some hilarious conversation he’d had with the group of travelling frenchmen, whole body contorting as he shifted characters, and making the fitting of this already difficult bear costume twice as long for her and thrice as painful for him. 

But she didn’t blame Nino. Not entirely, at least. He was an excitable person, an actor who revelled in telling a story. The man currently leaning against the wall with an unapologetic smirk on his face as he egged his friend on, was a different story. The blonde’s eyes had turned in response to her grumbling more than once throughout the fitting, and a single glance at the amusement held within them was more than enough to convince Marinette of who the true culprit was here.

She heard Chat chuckle as she glared at Nino and turned her gaze on him instead. He immediately fell silent, pursed lips suppressing his smile.

“Maybe you should stop moving so much, man,” Chat said, laughter evident in his voice. “Before Bert decides to stab you on purpose.”

Marinette couldn’t stop her smirk then, glancing up at a nervous-looking Nino and letting it spread. She watched in satisfaction as he visibly gulped.

“I like you Bertie,” he began, brow slightly furrowed in unease.  “But for a small man who doesn’t talk much, you are surprisingly terrifying.”

“Thank you,” Marinette responded, standing and surveying her work, before spotting one last issue.

“Why is that? Chat, what is it about our cataclysmic costumer that instills such awe?” Nino continued as she held a piece of the faux fur against Nino and reached blindly for the scissors with her free hand.

“Because,” Chat’s voice responded, much closer than he was a moment ago as he placed the implement she was looking for into her searching fingers. “He is the  _ expert _ wielder of all the pointy things in your immediate vicinity.” Marinette looked up, her head turning a fraction to catch Chat’s smile. “All needles and pins, as far as the eye can see.”

Chat shot her a wink before moving away, and Marinette hurried to focus on her task, lest her flaming cheeks give away more than either of the men in the room needed to know. 

“Well, except for these bad boys,” Chat raised his hands, fingers wiggling within the clawed gloves she was working on for Nino’s costume. “These are yours, but even then, only if Bertie is feeling generous that day.”

Nino’s eyes lit up and she felt his body tense as he stopped himself from rushing to look at the last part of his costume she hadn’t shown him yet. Glancing down at her with a pout and clearly waiting for permission, Marinette rolled her eyes at the boy and, with a final snip, nodded, acquiescing to his freedom. He was off in a flash, grabbing her invention gingerly in his hands as his eyes shone in wonder.

Clearing her throat, she stood, taking advantage of Nino’s distraction and smiling sweetly at Chat.

“And this expert wielder is ready for her..his next victim,” she stuttered,voice still low, but near slip evident as she forgot herself for a moment and watched Chat’s eyes shot to Nino. Luckily, the boy was still engrossed in his new toy, but Marinette made a mental note to be more careful. It was far too easy to lose the facade of Bertie in Chat’s presence. 

Despite her near disastrous error at the start, Chat’s fitting was much easier. She’d adapted a toga from the Roman themed play, dyed it blue and added wisps of fabric to replicate butterfly wings. Just like that, the boy had become a fairy. 

She moved through his fitting in a contented haze, none of her previous awkwardness around the man present as she adjusted and embellished the costume with ease. Chat fell into her choreography effortlessly, moving and freezing according to her needs, hardly without her even having to ask. It was only when she’d finished, sitting back to survey her work and offering her fist for Chat to bump as had somehow become a ritual for them in the past few days, did she notice how silent the room had fallen.

Nino cleared his throat from where he’d gone to sit by the window.

“Chat, is there something you’d like to tell me?” Marinette looked up and watched as Chat’s face went ashen, his eyes darting down to her as he opened his mouth, but no response came. Luckily, Nino wasn’t done.

“When did you and Bertie become so buddy-buddy?” Nino’s smile was jubilant as he leaped from his seated position and came to throw and arm over Chat’s shoulders. “And here I was, chattering away to avoid awkward silences, and you two are clearly already pals.”

“Yeah, pals,” Chat echoed, his face finally regaining some of its color as Nino continued to talk.

“See? I told you Bertie didn’t dislike you. He’s just a man of few words. Right, my friend?”

Marinette, keeping with with expectations, simply nodded, trying to hide her smile and hoping Nino would keep chattering away, anything to keep that embarrassed flush rising to Chat’s cheeks. As if she could have ever disliked him…

“See what I mean?” Nino, nudged her with his shoulder before steering a still shocked Chat towards the ladder. “Now let’s leave  _ our friend _ in peace so he can finish up work. You, my boy, have lines to learn.”

Nino plodded down the ladder first and Chat sneaked a glance back at her once their friend was out of eyeshot. She wiggled her fingers at him in farewell, and had to muffled her laughter behind a hand at the menacing glare he sent her in response before descending out of view. 


	10. Friends

“Alright,” Nino slammed down his tankard, the thud pulling Adrien out of his daydream and pointing his attention back at his friend. “Where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” Adrien asked, deliberately taking a bite of the meat on the plate, even though it was tough and overly salted. While he envied the freedom of the common folk, if pub food was anything to go off of, he did not begrudge them their food.

“I mean, you’ve been in dreamland since we’ve sat down. Either you’re nervous about tomorrow’s performance--which would be noble, but boring of you-- or,” Nino’s face broke out in a grin as he leaned forward. “You not been dreaming of the play at all, but rather something far, far sweeter.”

“What?”

“Please, you’re a young, handsome man. You’re certainly eligible enough, and probably not scrimping for cash if my memory of your fine clothes when we first met serves me,” Nino smiled as Adrien’s eyes went wide. “Well that, and the clear way you’re forcing yourself to choke down this food.”

Adrien  slumped in his seat, pushing the plate towards Nino who had already eaten his share with gusto. If he wasn’t fooling anyone anyway, he definitely wasn’t going to eat whatever mystery meat the barmaid had slapped on his plate.

“Your point?”

“My point is you are a man in your prime and  _ clearly _ someone has caught your fancy.”

“You mean a girl?”

“If that’s what you like,” Nino replied with an unconcerned shrug and Adrien gave into defeat, flopping over at the waist and dropping his head into his hands. “What’s her name?”

Adrien rubbed his eyes, but when he looked up, the smile on his face cut through every emotion.

“Ladybird.”

“What?” Nino asked, confused but letting a smile creep onto his face as well.

“Who,” he corrected. “And I am so in over my head, but when she smiles, I cease to care,” he admitted. Nino just shook his head in what Adrien felt was commiseration. Without a word, they clinked their glasses.

“Well, my friend, if you think you have lady troubles,” Nino smiled sadly at Adrien. “Let me tell you about …”

 

~*~

“Lady Alya!” Marinette cried in mock scandal, smiling as her friend entered her room and immediately unlaced and dropped her corset. She tossed it against the wall dramatically, both girls cringing as it narrowly missed the small stand where the bowl housing her goldfish sat, another talisman of goodluck from her mother on the announcement of her engagement.

“If I have to go to one more formal introduction, I might scream,” Alya dropped to the floor in front of her, her petticoats billowing like a cloud around her as she glared toward the whale-bone torture device and addressed it directly. “Do you know how satisfying it would be to watch you  _ burn _ ?”

Marinette snorted from behind her embroidery, hands still moving in a trancelike manner as she outlined the flowery border of the handkerchief in the darkest thread she owned, a near-black brown. 

“What are you adding there?” Alya had leaned up onto her knees and peered down at the linen in Marinette’s hands in confusion. She looked down herself, taking in the border completely for the first time and noticing what Alya meant. She was so accustomed to working without thinking on these little trinkets her mother always like to send to relatives that she hadn’t even realized something new was emerging in her typical flowery border.

Peeking up from behind a red poppy was an unmistakable pair of animal ears.  _ Cat ears _ , she realized.  _ Black _ cat ears. She felt her face flame, and tried to hastily put away her stitches, but Alya was far quicker than her, especially when she sensed a secret. Her friend grabbed the cloth out of her hands, and then fixed Marinette with her stare.

“And just  _ why _ , miss, are you blushing over a…” she glanced down, squinting momentarily to make out the form, before looking back up triumphantly. “A black cat?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette tried to raise her chin indignantly. “He’s just a cat.”

“ _ He _ , hmm?” Alya smirked, and Marinette mentally cursed her best friend and her quick mind. Alya missed  _ nothing _ . She stared her down for a few silent moments before letting her smile drop and giving Marinette a pointed stare instead. “Spill.”

“He’s a new player at the theater and his name is Chat Noir and I met him before when I bumped into him on the street one day and he knows I’m a woman and his eyes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen and his smile does dangerous things to my heart---”

“Woah, woah! Slow down there, girl!” Alya dropped the handkerchief and placed her hands on Marinette’s shoulders, watching as she took several measured breaths. 

“You mean to tell me,” Alya began again, after having processed Marinette’s nearly incoherent ramblings. “That you are in love with a boy at your theater who is helping you keep your secret.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“Yes.”

The girls both stared at each other in silence before Alya spoke once more.

“He really chose the stage name ‘black cat’?”

Marinette opened her mouth to find some defensible response, but only came up with one thing.

“At least it means he’s educated in french?”

Alya allowed her that, giving a dubious nod, before both women broke out into peals of laughter that ended with them sprawled out on the floor, shoulder to shoulder as their legs pointed towards opposite walls.

“And I’m not  _ in love _ with him,” Marinette protested belatedly.

“Oh no? What about his dreamy eyes and gorgeous smile?”

Marinette paused, trying not to get lost in the memory of his laugh as it flew unbidden into his mind.

“It’s just a crush, some harmless flirtation.”

“He’s keeping your secret, Birdy,” Alya reminded her softly. “He clearly cares about you, too.”

“He’s just a friend,” Marinette insisted.

“So nothing to worry your betrothed then?’

Alya’s words brought her up short, and Marinette realized she hadn’t thought of the man she’d promised her hand to since she’d run from him in the theater that night. The same night she revealed her true identity to Chat. 

“No, nothing to worry about,” Marinette managed, hoping the more she said it, the more she’d believe it herself. Because she had to. She had to believe it, because it  _ had _ to be true. Marinette had known for years who she would marry, and had not resigned herself to her match, but rejoiced in it. Not many maidens got to marry one of their dearest friends and the kindest man she’d ever known. Her hand fell instinctively to her pocket, where the notebook he’d given her always resided, and she felt her heart warm at the love she’d already held for her future husband.

But then she thought of the way Chat’s fleeting glances and secret smiles had made her feel, something she’d never hoped to experience and felt her heart clench with guilt.

She turned her head to find Alya already looking at her, her hand reaching up to touch her friend’s head in concern.

“Just be careful, Marinette. Our dear Luka could always find another match, but he doesn’t deserve to be publically betrayed.”

“It’ll be fine,” Marinette tried again,but Alya still looked unconvinced.

“Okay,” she responded regardless. 


	11. Habits

Adrien rolled over in bed, the sunlight oppressive from where it streamed through the windows at an alarmingly high angle. Blinking past still weary eyes, a sharp scratch on the glass caught his attention and he reluctantly rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the window. Grabbing a small plate of chicken he’d hidden from last night's meal, he opened the shutter and placed the small offering in front of the real Chat Noir, the ornery stray Adrien had befriended years before through bribery of various meats and cheeses. 

Adrien lightly scratched his old friend’s ears as his eyes wandered to the back garden, his vision just able to make out the time on the sundial there, and cursed. He’d meant to start getting up earlier, afraid that his sleeping habits would become suspicious, but it was already nearly noon, and his stomach moaned as if to drive the point home. Donning some clothes sloppily, he lumbered out of his room and down towards the kitchen. His late nights at the theater were really starting to mess with his sleep schedule, not to mention the extra hours he’d been putting in to try and prepare for his larger role. At least one benefit was he hadn’t seen his father in a week. With Gabriel’s tight schedule, Adrien’s late mornings and the sheer size of the house, the last time he’d seen his father had been at least ten days ago.

He hopped down the last step, smiling a good morning towards one of the servants that wasn’t as terrified of him as she was of his father, and turned the corner towards the kitchen. At the late hour in the day, he wouldn’t bother the cook for any type of formal meal. His father wasn’t in attendance after all…

As if the mere thought had conjured the man into existence, Adrien froze in the doorway of the dining room at the sound of an exaggerated cough. He turned his head slowly to put off the inevitable, but when his eyes met his father’s, Gabriel only had one word for him.

“Sit.”

Sighing, but trying not to be petulant about his spoiled plans for the morning, Adrien took a seat at the opposite end of the long table, still supplied with breads, meats and tea from the morning meal.  He looked at his father expectantly, but when it became clear that Gabriel was waiting for him to say something, Adrien covertly rolled his eyes and instead began to serve himself food, only looking up to shoot his father a glare when he opened his mouth to call a servant. Gabriel rolled his own eyes in response, the action a chillingly reminder of how similar the two men could be at times, and turned back to the pamphlet in his hand as Adrien filled his stomach. 

“Gluttony is a sin, son,” Gabriel finally gave in and broke the silence after a few minutes, peeking a disdainful eye over the paper. “But then, perhaps it should be slothfulness that I warn you about? It is, what? The fourth time this week you’ve risen long after the sun.”

Adrien met his father’s eyes, smiling as he ate another slice of meat before responding clearly. 

“Not all of us are fueled with the fire of hunting Catholics.”

“It is God’s will.”

“It’s a personal vendetta,” Adrien shot back, the familiar argument between them falling silent, as it always did when Adrien spoke his mind. Gabriel refused to  ‘engage’ with his son’s taunting, as he saw it. Anger was of the devil, and Gabriel refused to succumb to it. Adrien considered it having an honest conversation, but despite Gabriel’s most earnest evangelizing, his only son was forever a heathen in his eyes; his opinion on religious matters invalid.  The problem was, everything was a religious matter with Gabriel. 

He and his father rarely had a functional conversation.

“You know,” Gabriel sighed, placing the piece of paper on the table and sliding it towards him. “If I didn’t know from your tutors how poorly you performed in grammatics, I might accuse you of writing this. Your disdain for my work is clear enough.”

Adrien glanced at the article, skimming the title and first paragraph to deduce enough that it was an attack on the persecution of people for their religious beliefs. He read further to find more than a few paragraphs dedicated to defaming the morally superior character of those like his father, tasked with their misguided judgements. 

He looked back up at his father, who had stood and started to fasten his cloak to leave. Steeling his face in indifference, he responded.

“Interesting.”

“Foolish.”

“Is that a veiled threat at the author father?” Adrien cocked his head in question. “I’m sure they write under anonymous for fear of your wrath.”

“It is not  _ my  _  wrath they should fear, my boy,” his father responded, and then with a flourish of his cape, left the room. Adrien waited until he was gone, but couldn’t completely suppress his smirk. Perhaps he wasn’t the only dramatic one in the family.

His eyes turned back down towards the article and his grin gave way to a pensive frown. 

Nor, apparently, was he the only one who was ready for things in their world to change.


	12. Time

Marinette tilted her head to the side, letting more light shine down on the small notebook as she scrutinized the lines of the gown. She’d experimented with shapes and draping extensively with Alya and her sisters as willing subjects, but it was a very different challenge to achieve the same effect with Nathaniel. He was slighter than the rest of the men, with sharp features that aided him as he played the more feminine rolls, but his overall shape was still a V: broad shoulders that tapered into a slim waist. It lent itself to corsets well enough, but she was struggling with how to create the illusion of hips without adding a rather obvious bustle. The next few plays called for a more ethereal look, something far from the heavy fabrics and large skirts of what was typically in fashion, and Marinette wanted to work with the gauzy materials that would float across the stage with his character without seeing the obvious rump roll they’d been using in his other costumes. 

Hand still tweaking and annotating her current design, Marinette imagined various draping and bunching techniques that would achieve the desired effect, and was almost completely oblivious to how the man next to her fidgeted in boredom.

“You seem very inspired as of late,” Luka finally spoke from where he sat next to her. “You’ve hardly have had time for me in the last few weeks.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, finishing a line and then closing her notebook to give her betrothed her full attention. He smiled down at her, taking the notebook gently from her hands to quickly flip through its pages.

“Never apologize for your passion. I’m glad you’re enjoying my gift so thoroughly,” he smiled down at some of her more whimsical designs before returning the book to her grasp. “Although, I must say my father was getting agitated when you wrote to postpone our last two meetings. Between that and your hesitation to set a date…”

“I know, I know,” Marinette frowned.

“You know I don’t mind,” he nudged her side with his elbow and she looked up to catch his sad smile. “I’m already asking so much.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “And I’m the one at such a disadvantage to be marrying one of my best friends who on top of being one of the kindest men I know, is also educated and handsome.”

“Don’t forget my burgeoning wealth and envied swordsmanship,” Luka added with a chuckle.

“Yes, of course,” Marinette waved a hand in his direction. “I truly am misfortune incarnate.”

“Still, despite all my obvious charms, our deal stands.”

“Luka--”

“No,” he cut her off. “Marinette, you know I would never deny you love if you had found it. Not when I -- well, not when it is what you deserve.”

She glanced up at him, lips pursed.

“What did Alya tell you?” 

His smile was answer enough.

“Not nearly enough,” he admitted. “Our dear friend was less forthcoming than normal with the details, but I got the impression that  _ maybe _ there was someone on your mind. That maybe that same  _ someone _ was what was delaying the crying of our banns as well.”

“No,” Marinette hurried to answer, but then closed her eyes and faced the truth. “Maybe.”

“Birdy--”

“It’s just a crush, Luka,” she turned and looked at him desperately. “It has to be, and I will not throw away all our plans for a crush.”

He looked at her in silence for a moment, reading something in her eyes and nodding.

“Alright, but if you turn out to be wrong--”

“Luka,” she warned, but he ignored her interruption, leaning down to place a kiss on her temple.

“You know I would do anything to help you.”

She grabbed his hand between both of hers, tears coming to her eyes.

“I don’t deserve you, Lulu.”

“No,” he agreed with a squeeze of her hand. “You deserve so much more.”


	13. Food

Adrien was well on his way to wearing a track into the stage with his pacing when he heard a bang. His head whipped towards the noise and saw the soft glow of candlelight as it shone down the ladder from the loft. A quick glance at the sky through a nearby shutter, and an irritated groan from his stomach, confirmed that it was very early morning. Without meaning to, he’d somehow been practicing all through the night.

Not that anyone would know it from the state of his character. His first big part, and if he couldn’t nail his performance by tonight, there would never be another. 

What he really needed was a distraction, something to get him out of his head. He looked back towards the shaft of light, now accompanied by a flitting humming that danced towards him from the loft, and started to walk towards the ladder without having consciously made the decision to do so. Adrien felt his heart start to race at the thought of being alone with Ladybird for the first time since the night he’d recognized her. So much had progressed between them now, and he felt as at ease in her company as he did Nino’s, but he couldn’t deny that there was something more between them. 

At least, there was for him. 

Each time he passed her in the theater or had to see  her for costume adjustments, his day became exponentially brighter. And Adrien didn’t know what to make of that. She was part of the theater family. A friend. He knew her true name, but nothing else despite seeing her day in and day out. There were so many reasons why he should distance himself-- why he should let his crush smoulder out-- but his body didn’t seem interested in this logic as his feet ascended the ladder.

Knocking lightly on the wood beam as he reached the top, he jumped at Ladybird’s screech of surprise, her hand immediately flying to secure the haphazard placement of her hat. 

“Chat,” she sagged in relief before turning to grab a baguette and pelting it at his face. “You frightened me!”

“Sorry,” he laughed, deftly catching the loaf out of the air and nearly moaning when he felt the crispy crust crunch under his fingers, the golden treasure still warm in his grasp.

“Hungry?” She asked with a smirk and he realized he might have not been so silent about his moan after all. He nodded and Ladybird stepped aside to reveal a basket, loaded with breads and cheeses. His mouth watered at the bounty.

“I will share, if,” she enunciated. “You give me one good reason why you are lurking in the theater at this hour of the morning.”

She crossed her arms and fixed him with a stare.

“To scare fair maidens?” He attempted with a smirk, but Ladybird continued to look unimpressed, so he went with the truth. “Because I’m working on my character.”

“Oh,” her sass fell and she looked uneasy. “Um...Does your character even speak.”

“No,” he admitted. Ivan’s mysterious ‘will-o’ the-wisps’ were on stage the majority of the show, yet had no lines. “But I need to  _ emote _ .”

He watched as Ladybird tried to suppress her smile, but she didn’t mock nor laugh.

“Come here, minou,” she sat on the ground and patted the spot in front of her. “Let’s eat, and then we can work on your...emoting. Okay?”

“Really?”

“Really. I need to finish the costumes, and I’d enjoy the company.”

“Thanks, M’Lady,” Adrien hurried to sit at her side and placed a deft kiss on her cheek as he grabbed some cheese. “You’re the best.”

She stared at him with a dazed smile and Adrien blushed, belatedly realizing his actions. 

At least he had one answer, though.

It definitely wasn’t just him.


	14. Encouragement

    “Ten minutes!” Plagg’s voice sounded through backstage just as Marinette finished securing Nino’s costume.  She stood up, tugging on where it clasped in the back for good measure before giving Nino a nod and sending away.

    Sinking with a sigh, she fell onto her work stool, trying to catch a breath in the pre-show madness. She’d worked since early that morning, staying long after Chat had left to rest in order to finish up last minute alterations that matched Ivan’s script changes.

    “Bertie,” she heard a voice call up the ladder and tried not to groan in annoyance at her interrupted moment of peace. “I think there’s something wrong with my costume.”

    Marinette looked over towards the ladder and saw Chat emerge, his eyes darting around nervously, but costume looking impeccable. She wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d spent more time on his than was strictly necessary, not when the subtle green embellishments she’d added brought out his eyes like that. He seemed to relax the moment he realized they were alone, and Marinette knew his real problem wasn’t with his costume.

    “Still nervous?” She asked, standing to stretch her weary limbs as he walked completely into the room. Marinette delighted in the way his eyes followed her and forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be getting _over_ her crush on the mysterious boy and not digging herself into the hole further.

    “Yes,” he admitted, coming to lean on the wardrobe next to her with a pout. “And I know you think I’ll be great, but I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

    “You won’t,” she turned to him, soft smile on her face. “Stop borrowing trouble, minou.”

    She leaned into impulse and patted his cheek twice. It was something she’d done with countless friends over the years, but the moment her skin touched his, she knew it was a mistake. She should know better by now than to assume such things with him. Chat made every experience brand new.

    He grabbed her hand, holding it to his cheek before she’d regained enough composure to pull away.

    “Why do you call me ‘minou’?” His voice whispered softly to her and she had to gulp before responding.

    “Why did you name yourself ‘black cat’ in french?” She finally retorted.

    “You’re educated in french,” he smiled, still leaning into her palm. “You must be a true lady, then.”

    “So are you,” she immediately deflected, trying to keep some mystery about her other life. He already knew so much, but she was suddenly desperate that he never know she was promised to another, lest he stop looking at her like he was in that moment. “Perhaps you’re some grand Lord moonlighting as a player.”

    He smiled ruefully then, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm, before freeing her hand from his grasp.

    “What nickname should I create for you then?” he asked, and Marinette noted with confusion that he didn’t respond to her joking accusations at all. “‘M’Lady’ unfortunately does not always fit with your facade of the moment.”

    “Friends call me ‘Birdy’,” she admitted and watched his eyes alight in realization.

“Ah, so the little ladybird pin _does_ mean something!” His eyes darted down to her chest to where the pin was hidden before coloring and finding her face once more. “A lucky charm from someone? Perhaps your co-conspirator in this charade?”

His face took on a mischievous glow, and while Marinette did trust him, his eyes were far too keen for her liking.

“Nino _does_ keep mentioning a Lady Alya,” he continued, and Marinette felt her face flame. “Our good friend Bertie’s fair cousin..”

“Aren’t you supposed to be freaking out over your role right now? You have five minutes before curtain.”

As soon as she mentioned it, Marinette wished she hadn’t, although watching his face transform from playful to panicked did save her from further discussion of Alya, and all the connections to her daily life that it entailed.

“Come on,” she grabbed his hand lightly and pulled him towards the ladder. “You’re going to do great. You emote _beautifully_ ,” she emphasized and watched him color prettily at her words.

“Thank you...bug,” he added, with a tender smile and it was Marinette’s turn to blush. Of all the sweet nicknames, leave it to him to make something most found repugnant somehow sound wonderful. God help the audience if this boy was ever given a speaking role; they’d all fall into puddles at his very command.

“Two minutes! Places!” Plagg’s voice echoed up, as if directed solely at them, but Marinette felt lost in his gaze.

“M’Lady,” he whispered, head bending towards her, and though she knew she should stop it, push away and leave that instant, her heart wasn’t feeling very logical at the moment, and her body had already chosen its side.

His hand on her cheek, Marinette had given into her denied desires for the man in front of her and lifted onto her toes to meet him halfway when a sudden screaming tore through the theater and the two jerked apart in shock.

“Raid!” A call reverberated through backstage followed by a thundering stampede of footsteps, running to avoid the oncoming onslaught.

“ _Ivan Bruel_ ,” Marinette could make out in the distance, her blood chilling as she realized that this wasn’t a raid, but an arrest.

“No,” her voice came out in a whisper just as Chat’s hand grabbed hers and tugged her towards the nearest window.  

“We can’t be caught here.”

“But Ivan--”

“Ladybird,” his voice was low, but frantic as it struck her. “They cannot find _you_ here.”

His words reverberated through her and Marinette finally realized exactly how much danger she was in if discovered like this. There was nothing she could do to save Ivan if the witchhunt had been leveled against him, but imagining what they would do to her family if _she_ was discovered…

Marinette snapped out of her daze as a feminine shout she recognized as Tikki yelled up to the loft.

“ _Run!”_ The woman commanded in gastes, her yell followed by the collapse of the loft’s ladder. It wouldn’t give them long, but Marinette knew Tikki was buying her some time. For not the first time, she wondered how much the doting woman knew, or at least suspected, but at present, there wasn’t a moment to waste on such quandaries.

“Hurry,”  Chat called, pushing open the shutters and climbing to the roof of the theater with the ease of his namesake animal. Hands reached down to lift her up, and after a moment’s hesitation, she shouldered her satchel, grabbed his hands, and swung out the window. 


	15. Race through the city

Adrien grasped Ladybird’s arms in his, lifting her easily onto the roof thanks to his extensive career of escaping the confines of his own home. He steadied her on the roof as they waited out the raid, but when sounds of the guards flooded into the loft, Ladybird grabbed his hand, and together they ran across the rooftops.

Adrien kept pace without a word, helping her keep her balance on the more angled roofs, but following her lead. Ladybird and he carefully picked their way across rooftops until they were a few blocks away, in a part of the city foreign to him, but apparently not to the girl by his side. She glanced around with a keen eye, ducking low when they reached a dead end as she listened for the sounds of the guards. The buildings were much closer together than he’d ever seen here, but with an open marketplace opening up in an expanse before them, they had no further to go unless they chose to double back.

Ladybird turned to him in a whisper.

“I think we’re okay, but…” she looked around them. “How do we get down?”

Adrien glanced around him, deliberating whether the ledge he saw on the building’s facade would be enough to hold their weight, when suddenly a thundering footsteps sounded past them. Without a thought, he grabbed her and threw them both down, laying silently against the flat roof as the guards got progressively closer, shouts of pursuit echoing in the otherwise still night.

“I say we don’t, for now,” he finally responded and Ladybird turned, her eyes giving him a sarcastic look, though her hands made no attempt to remove  his arm where he’d slung it protectively over her waist.

“So now, we wait,” she sighed, looking up towards the sky and Adrien smirked, flipping onto his back to do the same.

“Now we wait,” he echoed, smiling broadening as he rolled his eyes towards her dimly lit face. “And while we do... have I ever told you I dabbled in astrology, M’Lady?”


	16. Stars

Marinette couldn’t help but snort at his admission.

“Just a regular ol’ Renaissance man, aren’t you minou?” She smiled and nudged his side with an elbow. “Already you command the stage like a seasoned actor, have the prowess of a practiced polyglot, run across rooftops like a hardened _cat_ burglar, and now you’re an astrologist. Is there anything you _haven’t_ dabbled in?”

“Pastimes of a bored and rebellious child, M’Lady,” he replied with a sad smile, and again Marinette was struck with the feeling that there was much more to Chat that he allowed her, or anyone, to see. Why did a man decide to leave a life that had clearly provided him with the education and opportunity necessary to create someone of his skills to become an actor?

“What are you running from, Chat?” She asked softly and waited a moment until she sensed his eyes meeting hers. Even in the darkness, she could tell he knew instantly that she wasn’t talking about the guards after them.

“The same as you,” he admitted. “A life of what is expected of me in pursuit of something...real.”

“So you chose acting,” she replied with an ironic smile and revelled in the gleam of one he’d rewarded her in return.

“I’m an enigma.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You certainly are.”

The silence stretched between them, seemingly as infinite and intimate as the galaxies above, before Chat spoke again.

“Ladybird,” he began, a hesitant determination ringing out in his voice. “I think there’s something--I need to know if--”

“Kiss me, Chat,” she interrupted swiftly as a rush of adrenaline coursed through her, emboldened by the blanket of night around them and the encouraging light of the stars above.

“Bug--”

“I need to know, too,” she whispered, turning on her side and facing the shadow of his form. “Please, I need to know, too.”

She watched him through the veil of darkness, the outline of his body turning and hand moving towards her. His palm rested on her cheek so gently she closed her eyes to savor the sensation of his warmth coursing through her body... his breath as he leaned closer and finally,his lips as they found hers.

It was like nothing she’d ever imagined and everything she’d ever dreamed. She felt tears come to her eyes as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss with a contented sigh, and she knew there was no turning back. There was no denying what was between them.

In that moment, she felt the path of her life irrevocably shift, and it terrified her even as his lips exhilarated her.

 _“Here, kitty, kitty,”_ a voice echoed from the street below and Chat startled back from her. She could still feel his breath on her face, his reluctance to part evident in his grip on her waist.

“Bug, I--”

 _“Here, kitty, kitty,”_ the voice called again, closer, and even Marinette vaguely recognized it.

“Nino,” Chat groaned, disentangling them and moving to lean over and whistle at his friend in the street.

“All clear my man,” the other player whispered loudly up at them. “There’s a clothes’ line on the west side of the building you can shimmy down.”

Chat simply nodded in response, but Marinette had to stifle her laugh as Nino’s next words nearly caused Chat to stumble off the roof.

_“Oh, and have you seen Bertie?”_


	17. Catch or Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...How about catch AND fall? ;)

Adrien was grateful for the night as it covered his flaming face. He could hear Ladybird’s muffled snickers at Nino’s words and narrowly managed to not flounder off the roof to his untimely demise.

“Stop laughing,” he muttered, gripping the ledge in a crouch as he caught his breath, but that only increased her giggles.

“I don’t know, Chat. _Have_ you seen Bertie?” Ladybird was sitting up now and her eyes twinkled in the reflected moonlight.

Adrien took one glance at her teasing face, and in a moment’s impulse, leaned in to capture her lips with his again. She sagged into him instantly, and he felt a smile playing on his lips as he broke away, thrilled beyond words that the effect she had on him seemed to be more than reciprocated in kind.

“I’ve done more than _seen him_ ,” Adrien responded with a wink, and though he knew she couldn’t see more than his shadow in the dark, her aim was deadly as she smacked him on the arm.

Calling out an affirmative response to his friend, he grabbed his...well, his _certainly-something-more-than-a-friend_ ’s hand and lead them towards the clothesline that Nino had indicated. After a few yanks on the line, he gave a satisfied nod and stepped up to descend first. If it could hold his weight, it could definitely hold hers.

With practiced ease, he pulled his shirt sleeves low, making impromptu gloves around his hands before gripping the feeble rope and sliding to the ground where Nino awaited to steady his landing. Once stable, he whistled, waiting until he saw Ladybird’s head pop over the ledge before motioning for her to repeat his movements.

Adrien was waiting with open arms, watching her steady slide down, when something went terribly wrong. She was about eight feet off the ground, just out of his reach, when he watched as the rope started to vibrate slightly just before one of the twisted lengths snapped, sending Ladybird’s form swinging. Her side impacted with a low overhang of a nearby doorway, the jolt of pain loosening her grip on the rope as it flew out of her grasp.

Adrien’s shout of alarm echoed her cry of pain as he jumped immediately to position himself under her body to break her fall. The sound of fabric tearing blended into a grunt of surprise as Adrien managed to catch her against his chest, his knees buckling under them as he did.

Both gasping in heaving breaths from the rush of her fall, they sat in a crumpled heap. Adrien gently started to check for injuries when he noticed another problem. Her shirt, having likely caught on the overhang during the fall, had torn down the seam, leaving Ladybird’s entire side exposed to view.

While the bindings around her breasts  had likely protected her ribs from more serious damage during the impact, their reveal created an entirely new problem.

And Nino’s gasp from behind him at the sight of them, only confirmed it.


	18. Masks

Marinette scrambled to cover her side at the sound of Nino’s gasp as Chat instinctively came to stand protectively in front of her, but it was too late. Nino had already seen too much, and in an instant, the mask of Bertie she’d so desperately clung to for weeks, was ripped off.

“Nino--” She began, pushing around Chat to meet him face to face, but stopping when she caught the emotion in his eyes. It wasn’t distrust or disdain like she might have expected. It was concern.

“Are you alright?” He took a step forward, hands hovering towards her ribs but not touching her as he peered down at her intently. His eyes only flickered in amusement momentarily as Chat mimicked his movements, taking a step closer to her from behind, before turning back to her.

“Yes,” she assured him, hand still clutching her ribs that would no doubt be sore tomorrow, but seemed more or less in tact. She watched as Nino nodded in relief, shoulders relaxing as his gaze lifted. She watched as his eyes darted intelligently between Chat’s stance and her face. Recognition flickered across his expression as some silent exchange seemed to pass between the men. 

“Nino,” she began again. “I know this is a lot to ask, but please--”

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, Bertie” he smiled down at her, and Marinette reached out to grab his hand in gratitude. How she had managed to find two of the most understanding, forward-thinking men in the city, she would never stop giving thanks for.

“Or,” his tender smile took on a mischievous edge as he added. “Should I say  _ Ladybird. _ ”

Marinette gasped, turning to look in accusation at Chat who had closed his eyes in embarrassment. Nino simply stood chuckling at the two of them.

“Seriously, you two.  _ Chat Noir  _ and  _ Ladybird _ ? You sound like some travelling act.”

“Hmm,” Chat pursed his lips thoughtfully, seeming to have arisen from the chagrin easily enough as he began to banter with Nino about their fictional lives. “I was thinking more along the lines of  _ infamous thieves _ or  _ highwaymen _ .”

“You think so highly of yourself?” Nino retorted.

“No, not of me,” Chat smirked. “But you didn’t see M’Lady racing across rooftops a moment ago.”

Nino laughed, glancing at the annoyance on her face and nudging her congenially with his elbow.

“Yes, I would guess out of the two of you she’d be the more impressive one. Far more beautiful and graceful than you could ever manage, my friend.”

“Such flattering words, Nino,” she responded with a lift of her eyebrow. “Now that I’m a woman, I’m worthy of such praise?”

“No,” Chat responded with a guffaw. “Now that you’re  _ definitely _ not competition for Lady Alya’s hand, he most assuredly needs to keep you on his side.”

“You don’t think I could be competition?” Marinette crossed her arms and cocked her head towards Chat. She stood in a deliberately wide stance, a pose that clearly displayed her trousers, and squared her shoulders. She blinked innocently at him, enjoying his responding glower far too much, and puckered her lips slightly in his direction, a simple reminder of just how enticing he’d found her moments ago. 

“Are you?” Nino looked at her in earnest, and she cut her teasing with Chat if only to put him out of his misery.

“No,” Marinette said, watching Nino’s face color slightly in the dim light. “But if you think  _ I’m _ impressive, Nino, then you certainly could not handle my best friend.”

“Do you mean to tell me the proper Lady Alya Cesaire would traipse through town as a man to work in a theater?”

“I mean to tell you she would, and has, done far worse,” Marinette smirked at him. “Who do you think came up with this idea?  
“Lord in heaven,” Nino sighed, placing a hand over his heart as a lovesick expression took ahold of his features.

“Now, come gentlemen,” she lifted bother her arms towards them. “Which fine young man will have the honor of walking this be-trouser-ed maiden home?”

They both needed no further words, Chat and Nino both taking an arm with a smile as they flanked her sides and walked down the street. 

 

~*~

 

Nino watched Bertie--no, Ladybird-- walk down the street and around the corner, her eyes only darting momentarily back at Chat before she disappeared from view. They’d walked her as close to wherever home was that she would allow before parting ways. Chat’s eyes followed her until the last moment, and Nino wondered how he’d hidden the enamored look on his face so well while they were in the theater. There was no one who was that good of an actor meaning Nino must have been truly blind to miss the clear chemistry between the two. 

Then again, Nino had already suspected that his dear friend was living a double life. Perhaps practice really does make perfect.

“Does she know?” he asked softly, and Chat made no attempt to evade or distract from the question. He knew instantly what Nino was referring to. 

“No,” he admitted. “No one does.”

Chat turned to him then, the loneliest expression crossing his feature even as he tried to smile.

“If they did...” he shook his head, trailing off. “Trust me, no one would want to know me.”

The man clapped his back once, before turning and disappearing down a different street, unabashedly towards the wealthiest part of town, as Nino watched with a strained expression, knowing there was nothing to be done, but hating the helplessness that ate away at him. 


	19. Confined or Trapped

Marinette walked leisurely through the very early morning streets, trying not to draw attention to herself even as the only ones awake were fishermen and bakers. Slipping discreetly into the alley that led to the side door of the theater, she pushed past the unlocked door and into the mayhem that lay within.

It was a mess. Curtains torn and props littering the floor, and Marinette felt tears threaten at the corner of her eyes at the sight. Her only consolation was what Nino told her the night before: Ivan was safe. Uncaptured, and currently en route to distant cousins in the countryside, his wife Mylene and their two children had left the city the week before in fear of the unrest against their people and he was well on his way to join them. Despite the chaos in front of her, so considered it a victory. 

Marinette picked her way through the rubble until she reached her loft, the ladder thankfully resurrected and unbroken despite the shambles around her. Carfully climbing towards her haven, she hesitated before peeking an eye over the lip of the floor to take in the catastrophe of her once immaculate workspace.

Fabric was thrown haphazardly across the room, precious pins scattered on the floor, and costumes lay rumpled and ripped below her feet. Marinette surveyed the scene with dismay, and more than a little anger, before steeling herself for the work ahead. Taking a deep breath, she got started, kneeling down to begin collecting her spilt needles and threads before moving on to organize the fabric and try and salvage costumes. 

It was going to be a long day of organizing that probably would not get better when she left that afternoon...but Marinette pushed that thought aside, trying not to think of her later date with Luka nor what she needed to reveal to him. Better to focus on the present, as she knew with a startling certainty that there was no changing what was to come. 

The sun steadily rose in the sky, but Marinette didn’t know how long she’d been lost in the task in front of her when she all of a sudden heard footsteps from below. She froze mid-fold and dropped the green gown in her grasp, hands immediately seeking out her pair of scissors where they sat on the table as her mind tumbled to the worst case scenario. When she heard a second set of footsteps accompanied by two low male voices, she frantically ran for the large wardrobe, wedging herself amongst the costumes and pulling the doors closed as far as she could on their uneven hinges.

Trying to steady the racing of her heart and quiet the din each breath seemed to make in the silent room, Marinette clutched her makeshift weapon to her chest and watched through the crack in the wardrobe doors as two men entered the loft.

Their movements rushed and hurried, it was a moment before Marinette saw that these men were not the guards from last night, back in search of their prey. Quite the opposite, she realized, as her eyes took in the two young lovers wrapped in a passionate, yet forbidden, embrace. She smiled, thinking back on her similar circumstance with Chat the night before, but as had been the case all night, guilt gnawed at her with the remembrance, throwing her mind back to the conversation she planned to have with her betrothed today.

She was turning her eyes away from the men, determined to give them as much privacy as possible despite her precarious position, when they turned and their profiles came into view. Marinette recognized them instantly.

Nathaniel, whose face and form she’d become so familiar with over the weeks of designing at the theater, looked up with loving abandon at a taller man... A man infinitely more familiar and unquestionably more dear to Marinette.

Despite herself, a gasp escaped her lips, and the two men froze. With practiced synchronicity, Nathaniel was pushed towards the ladder where he turned and fled, putting as much distance between the two men as possible, as his lover grabbed the saber at his waist and expertly pointed it towards the wardrobe where Marinette hid.

“Who is there?”

His voice resonated through the loft and with a deep breath, Marinette emerged from within, her eyes meeting his and watching his sword fell in shock at the sight before him.

“Hi, Lulu.”


	20. Trust

“Ma-Marinette?”

Luka stared at her, sword arm sagging at his side as he watched her unpin her hat, hair cascading down her shoulders at the action. 

“What--What--”

“What am I doing here?” Marinette supplied helpfully. “Or what am I doing dressed like a man?”

“Both,” Luka responded, still sounding dazed. “Either.”

“I work here,” she admitted and watched as her friend seemed to knock himself out of his stupor, his eyes glancing around the room as they lit in understanding.

“You’re the new costumer,” he smiled at her, and Marinette felt at once the instant acceptance that she’d always loved about him. “Of course you are! Who else would be brilliant enough to make those new costumes Nathaniel has been gushing about.”

He moved to the table, hand brushing lightly over the dress she’d dropped there in her hast as his expression softened. It was the deep emerald gown Nathaniel had worn in their last performance. 

“So,” Marinette took a step closer. “Nathaniel, huh?”

Luka looked uneasy for all but a moment before his shoulders relaxed and he went to sit on her work stool.

“Yes,” he admitted, tossing a far too handsome smile back at her from over his shoulder. “We always did agree it would be safer if you never knew  _ who _ .”

Marinette smiled sadly, following to sit on the window ledge in front of him. 

“But he makes you happy.”

Marinette didn’t phrase it as a question. The answer had been evident enough on his face as they embraced moments before, the love even more apparent in Luka’s ferocity as he turned to confront whoever threatened them.

“Desperately,” Luka responded nonetheless.

She looked up at one of her oldest friend’s faces and suddenly felt tears start to cascade down her cheeks. The look of pure adoration on Luka’s face as he talked of Nathaniel was so similar to Chat’s expression last night that it tore at her chest. All she wanted was to be able to have that, to be free to feel that for Chat without obligations, but she knew in her heart what that would mean for Luka. 

They’d made a promise to save each other: Marinette from ending up the wife of some dismissive brute, and Luka from having to live a lie. Three years ago Luka had proposed, his wealth and status protecting Marinette’s father from being coerced to give her hand to a reputably brutal, but distressingly persistent, nobel. It was then that Marinette promised to protect Luka too, having known and loved him for who he was for years. While she knew Luka would never hold her to a promise made by two children desperate to save each other, she hated herself for even putting them in this position.

“Oh, Birdy,” Luka immediately leaned forward, right hand clutching her own while his left hand brushed tears from her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“Just...the way you look at him,” Marinette tried to smile despite the shaking in her voice. “I want that for you. I want you to be so, so happy, Lulu.”

Luka regarded her, a sad smile of his own crossing his face.

“But you can’t help me anymore,” he finished for her when words failed, rescuing her even in the moment when she abandoned him. “Alya was right about your beau.”


	21. Sacrifice

    Marinette heard his words, and felt the finality of them hit her hard. Her friends had known even before her. Luka called Chat her ‘beau’ but her heart sang that it was so much more than that, even as it ached for having betrayed her promise to Luka.

“I’m so so sorry,” she sobbed, selfishly leaning into the comfort of his hand on her cheek. “I tried so hard not to love him--”

    “Shh,” Luka hushed her softly. “Don’t ever be sorry for loving him. I’ve kept you to myself for far too long, Marinette. You’re heart is too big to be wasted on some farce of a marriage.”

    “But you and Nathaniel--”

    “Have a back-up plan,” he reassured her, his thumb brushing away more tears as they fell. “We will be fine. And if this man is anywhere near worthy of your love, then you will be too.”

    “I made you a promise,” she whispered finally, and Luka grasped her face between both his hands.

    “Now you listen to me, Marinette Dupain. I am still technically your intended for this moment, so you must,” he joked through his forceful words and a weak laugh escaped her lips. “We made the promises of young teens, desperate to save you from having to marry a brute of a man with three wives dead. I made that promise because I knew it could protect _you_ , the same way you protected me and my secret our entire lives.”

    “Luka--”

    “I will not have you sacrifice love--which from the look on your face is as true as what I feel for Nathaniel--for my sake,” he stared her directly in the eyes as he continued. “Marinette, this is all how it always should have been. Stop fighting fate, and just let yourself fall.”

    “I’m scared,” she admitted finally, and felt him lower his forehead to hers.

    “Me too,” he echoed. “But it’s all as it _should_ be. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

    “What will you do?” She asked lifting her head and grabbing his hands in hers. “Where will you go?”

    “Nowhere yet,” he consoled. “Although, Nathaniel and I may need a parisian wardrobe within the next year. Know any good designers?”

    She felt her face split into the widest grin.

    “I know one,” she allowed. “But she’s highly exclusive, and will only take payment in the form of weekly letters for the rest of your life detailing all your miraculous adventures, and even the mundane ones.”

    “That could be arranged,” Luka smiled, giving her hands one final squeeze before rising to grab his saber where he had dropped it earlier. “I don’t suppose she would accept a lump sum as well. You see, I’ve been holding onto a rather large dowry, and don’t quite know what to do with it.”

    “Luka,” she met his eyes, serious, as she rose from her seat and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t. You know Papa would never accept it back, and you will probably need it for whatever escape you’re planning.”

    “You may be in need of some cash soon, too,” he fired back. “Second engagements can be expensive. Who’s to say I won’t just accidentally leave it in your room? I believe I have snuck in that back window on a few occasions.”

    Locked in a staring match with Luka, Marinette didn’t notice the blond head that suddenly made an appearance in the entrance to the loft.

    “You wouldn’t dare,” she continued to glare at Luka.

    “Wouldn’t I?” He respondes, matching her stance just as Chat’s voice sounded from the ladder.

    “Bertie? I thought I saw you in the window…”

Her “beau”’s voice trailed off, face dropping as her and Luka’s words registered in his brain and he took in the scene before him. Marinette cringed as she watched his face harden, his mind almost certainly jumping to the wrong conclusion.


	22. Quarrel

Adrien was walking past the theater’s entrance, preparing to turn the corner and enter through the alley door, when he caught movement from inside from the corner of his eyes. But not just from anywhere, from the loft window.  _ Her _ window.

A grin stretched across his face as he dashed through the door and towards the ladder, his planned afternoon of practicing lines made infinitely better at the thought of spending it in her company.

“Bertie?” Adrien called as he summited the ladder into the loft, cognisant to use her theater name on the off chance that she wasn’t alone. “I thought I saw you in the window…”

His voice trailed off as his head crested the floor and the voices of not one but two people washed over him.

_ You wouldn’t dare _ , Ladybird said, her voice menacing and determined. 

_ Wouldn’t I?  _ The male responded and Adrien felt his own body tense as he took in the scene before him.

Standing in her typical trousers, but hat nowhere in site, was Ladybird, hair cascading over her shoulders as her expression turned to him in shock. Across from her stood a man, his smile as menacing as his stature was threatening as his hand rested on the saber at his side. 

In a wave of remembrance, Adrien recalled seeing him before in the theater, on the night of his first performance. He also remembered the way Ladybird’s face had gone ashen at his appearance, the way she fled without so much as a backwards glance in fear of him seeing her. Adrien did not know who he was, but knew one fact for certain. Ladybird was afraid of this man, and he’d cornered her alone in the theater. That was unacceptable.

Suddenly, Adrien was on the move, his hand snaking out to grab the nearest fighting implement he could find as he positioned himself between his Lady and the man. His body effortlessly fell into the fighting stance he’d perfected over the years.

“Chat--” Ladybird began to call, but he didn’t dare turn to her and take his eyes off his opponent. He watched as the man started in surprise, a dangerous smile crossing his lips as he unsheathed his saber.

“Luka!” She called, naming the other man, but his opponent’s grin only widened as he winked towards her.

“Do you honestly think you can fight me with a broom?” The man--Luka-- taunted, lunging mockingly towards Adrien as he bounced on his feet lightly. Not a muscle in Adrien’s body reacted to Luka’s antics, his attention focused on his opponent’s center of gravity to watch for a true strike.

“Challenge me and find out,” he called back. “But when you lose, you will leave here and speak of her to no one, lest you want me to find you with a true sword and finish what I started.”

The man lunged then, and despite his obvious training, Adrien parried Luka’s strikes easily. The man’s smile faltered slightly, concentration overtaking his previously joking features.

“That confident, are you?”

“That determined,” Adrien responded, parrying a blow quickly and sending a jab to the man’s knees as he pushed him back towards the far wall. “If you knew what I protected, perhaps you would understand.”

Luka seemed to smile genuinely then, the expression enough to send Adrien into confusion as he faltered momentarily, giving his opponent access to his left bicep. The flat of Luka’s blade struck him in the shoulder, and while Adrien knew there would be a bruise, his eyes narrowed, wondering why the man had ignored such an opportunity to make him bleed. 

Still not letting him gain any ground towards Ladybird, he pushed forward, until suddenly his vision went black. In a disconcerted tumble, he recognized the feel of linen covering his head and heard the sound of metal against wood as Luka’s saber fell the the floor. He floundered for balance for a moment before a mass fell against him, and, in a tumble of limbs and fabric, he and his opponent both fell to a sprawling mess on the floor.


	23. Pain

Marinette let out a shout of surprise as the two sprang into action, but made no move to  get between them. For a moment, she watched, partly in shock at the sudden turn of events, but also in true admiration at the art coming to life before her. Luka was known for his swordsmanship, having trained under the royal guard as was tradition in his family, but Chat...Marinette watched in awe as he managed to hold his own. More than that... he seemed to be besting Luka at moments. It was a small space, but Luka with his sword and Chat with only a broom, seemed to make the most of it.

Marinette watched as the two circled each other, but wasn’t concerned for their safety. The gleam in Luka’s eye told her he was enjoying the impromptu spar, but she knew he wouldn’t actually hurt Chat. Her friend was far too practiced to even accidentally graze his opponent if it wasn’t his intention, and despite his surprising prowess, Chat wouldn’t be maiming anyone with his broom handle. With the relative safety of all parties secured, she crossed her arms and leaned back to watch the show.

But when the speed of their movements increased, Chat pushing Luka almost into a corner, Luka knocked him with the flat of his blade and seized the opening to dart out of his precarious position. It would have been a masterful maneuver had he not knocked over a pile of newly folded fabrics in their wake. Marinette had had enough.

When shouting at both of them, individually and as a combined-oblivious pair, yielded no results, Marinette pursed her lips and looked around the room in annoyance at the mess they were making. A mess she had  _ just cleaned up _ . With an irritated huff she grabbed the pile of fabric they had just knocked over--a lovely purple brocade and an abundance of dark brown linen-- and with the impeccable aim of a costumer angered, threw the bundle over the two just as Chat had corned Luka again. 

She smiled in satisfaction, watching the fabric twist and tangle in the air until it fluttered down on the two men in a blinding heap. Chat went down first. His broom tumbled from his hand as he fell at her feet, hands flying to dislodge the layers obstructing his vision. Luka was more obstinate, swaying and flailing for long enough that Marinette grabbed Chat’s dropped weapon and smarted her dear friend’s wrist to make sure he dropped his saber before he waved it in the wrong direction and hurt himself or someone else in the compact loft.

Luka let out a yelp of surprise at her assault but managed to discard his blindfold just as he bounced off of Chat on his way to the floor. A moment later, Chat did the same. Both men remained motionless, Chat blinking up at her from his seat on the floor as Luka rubbed his wrist with a smirk in her direction. 

“I see you haven’t forgotten your lessons,” he remarked, head nodding to where she still held the broom in a deft grasp and Marinette instantly relaxed her pose, laying the tool against the wall.

“I had a good teacher,” she shrugged, offering a hand and quickly lifting him back to his feet.

“I think you may how found an even better one,” Luka responded and Marinette felt a smile come to her face, knowing instantly that her friend--her  _ former _ intended--was complimenting far more than Chat’s skill with a sword. Though both of them knew it wasn’t necessary nor expected, her heart warmed at Luka’s subtly given approval. 

“M’Lady, what’s--”

“Relax, lover boy,” Luka turned with an obvious look of perusal as Chat stood to his full height before turning with an appreciative nod towards Marinette. “I would never do anything to put Birdy in danger. Although, now that she’s not engaged anymore, she may need some more protection from all those relentless suitors.”

“Luka,” Marinette warned, watching Chat’s jaw drop at the new information from the corner of her eye, but focusing her glare on her friend.

“See you later, Birdy,” Luka responded simply with a grin. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, but whispered before moving away, his voice soft, but serious. “Let yourself love him.”

Then, with a wink towards Chat, he grabbed his dropped saber, and disappeared down the ladder. 

“Ladybird,” Chat took a step forward, hands lifting towards her shoulders, but falling as if unsure of where he stood. “What was that?”

Marinette turned towards Chat with a sigh, becoming increasingly weary of the secrets that stretched between them. Wanting more than ever to follow Luka’s advice and give the blossoming of love in her heart a chance, she took the plunge and told the truth. 

“That...That  _ was _ my betrothed.”


	24. Rescue

Adrien stumbled a few steps backward and tried to look as if he’d casually sat, instead of forcibly fell, onto the stool by the window. Ladybird watched him, concern etched into her features, but amusement alight in her eyes at his clearly failed attempt at acting nonchalant.

“Be-Betrothed?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I didn’t realize you were promised to anyone. I would have--er--well, I wouldn’t have--”

“You would have congratulated me?” She supplied, the picture of innocence even as the next words spilled from her lips. “Or you wouldn’t have ravished me on a rooftop?”

“Oh lord,” Adrien felt the blood drain from his face. “I didn’t mean to--I mean, I would have never had I know. Why did you let me--”

“It was only a kiss, chaton, and if I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly a passive participant,” She took a step towards him and gently laid a hand on his cheek. Even in through his worry, Adrien leaned into the sweet caress. “Minou, you have nothing to apologize for. Luka and I--Well, we had an agreement, but there was not anything truly between us besides friendship. And, if you can recall, I did just say he  _ was _ my betrothed. Not is.”

“He found out?” His voice was a whisper.

“In a way,” she said and Chat felt his heart clench even as his shoulders relaxed at her words. Here, standing in front of him, was the woman he was undoubtedly falling in love with. Now she was telling him that she was available and, if he wasn’t mistaken, hinting that she’d like to change that...with him. It was like every dream he’d held close in the past few weeks was materializing in front of him 

But he’d just fought against the man she’d been promised to. He’d watched them speak just before he left. Luka was clearly noble born and as skilled with a sword as he was gentle with Ladybird. As much as Adrien wanted her by his side, how could he ever forgive himself if he’d ruined for her what was obviously a fortuitous match? He’d seen more than one woman married off to a man three times her age with clearly had no real affection or regard for her, and Ladybird seemed to have captured both in Luka. Had he ruined her stable, and likely happy, future for a chance at...what? She without a doubt saw him--  _ knew _ him--better than anyone he’d ever met, but he was still hiding so much. Things that shouldn’t be important, but were. 

Because no matter how skilled an actor he became, sooner or later the truth would come forward, and the fact was, he was heir to the most prominent title in town. The only son of a long, pure line of nobles, his life rarely followed the path of his own choosing. While Ladybird seemed educated herself, especially for a woman, Adrien wasn’t in the position to propose matrimony to whomever he chose. 

He’d known it his entire life. 

He’d resigned himself to this fate. 

It wasn’t until very recently that he’d had any impulse--any reason-- to fight it.

“Chat?”

He looked back at Ladybird, losing himself in the ocean of her gaze and knew he was no longer resigned. Up until now, he’d rarely defied his father. He’d sneak out at night, and certainly made his opinions known in the privacy of their home. In the public eye, however, he never caused too much of a stir, never outright went against his father’s wishes. He appeared in court when necessary. Spoke only to the correct people and flattered only the appropriate ladies.

But those days were over. 

Adrien knew, if Gabriel had his way, he would soon be married off to the most lucrative match possible, but the thought had never before made him so sick to his stomach. Adrien had already made it clear that he refused to follow in his father’s chosen profession, but he’d been reluctant to take a stand when it came to his future spouse.  He’d seen how an arranged marriage had blossomed into true love for his parents, and had never encountered any reason why the same wouldn’t be true for him and whomever he ended up with.

Now he had that reason, and she stood before him.

Adrien knew that as long as Ladybird walked the earth, he would never be content with another. He wouldn’t live without her again.

Chat closed his eyes, mind weary at the battle that lay ahead of him, but heart full at the realization that he was in the presence of woman he loved, who by some miracle, wanted him too. 

Her fingers gently prodded through his hair and down his neck, until she reached his shoulders, the left one smarting in pain at her touch. Ladybird’s hands froze and Adrien willed his muscles to relax as her fingers started to gently rub where Luka had knocked him with the flat of his blade.

“What on earth did you think you were doing?” Her sweet voice roused him from his thoughts as her hands continued to massage his sore muscle.

“Rescuing you,” he offered lamely, opening his eyes to be rewarded with the first easy smile he’d seen on her face since he’d arrived.

“Oh? And how did that go?”

“Okay at first. I  _ am  _ quite an accomplished swordsman.”

“I noticed,” Ladybird agreed, smile still pulling lightly at her lips and he felt himself glow under her subtle compliment.

“But then, we were vanquished by an even more fearsome opponent.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he grabbed her hand from his shoulder and held it in his. “It turns out, this Princess can fight her own battles.”

“Yes,” Ladybird agreed again, free hand lifting to brush his hair back off his forehead. “She can.”

“But I’d be honored if she’d let me fight alongside of her.”

Adrien let the vow hang in the air between them as Ladybird pursed her lips in concentration, clearly reading the question between the lines.

“I think...I think I might like that, too.”

Adrien bent over where he still held her hand, flipping it as he pressed a delicate kiss to her palm.

“Then I shall endeavor to convince you until you are sure.”


	25. Touch

Marinette moved around the small loft, eyes searching out Chat every other moment as he helped her clean. He claimed it would be their “first battle” as partners, and Marinette felt her heart skip just at the remembrance of his words. 

_ Until you are sure _ , he’d declared, her palm still tingling from the warmth of his lips on her skin. But even as her heart sang, her mind rebelled. How could she ever be  _ sure _ ?

With Luka, it had been simple. A pact between friends. An agreement mutually made, open and honest. But while she’d  _ honestly _ never felt about anyone the way she felt about Chat, she knew there would be no openness between them as long as secrets remained. The truth was, they didn’t know each other. 

Marinette supposed she could argue that she knew him in all the ways that mattered. She knew he was kind and generous. That he had a tendency to worry. That he was fiercely loyal and would lay down his life to protect a friend. That he had a quick humor and a sharp wit. 

She’d memorized how his left ear would twitch ever so slightly when he was trying not to laugh and how his nose crinkled when he was trying to learn lines. She savored the way he looked at her with honest, unabashed adoration... When his eyes met hers, she was surer than the sun would rise that she glimpsed a part of his soul.

In those moments, she forgot that there was anything still hidden between them. In those moments, she was sure. 

And despite everything that warned her that it wouldn’t be easy, that she’d thrown away an easy life and a comfortable marriage at a chance at something more, when Chat touched her...a brush of her hand, a fleeting kiss on the cheek...Marinette couldn’t find it in herself to regret her decision. 

But something had to give. 

She paused, setting aside the fabric she’d just folded, and turned to find Chat already walking towards her.

“What--”

He held and finger up, tapping his ear with another as a smile overtook his face. Marinette furrowed her brow, but cocked her head just as the sound of a lyre on the street reached her ears. Looking back, she saw Chat bowing low with a flourish of his hand.

“M’Lady?” He inquired, and Marinette rolled her eyes with a smile as she placed her hand in his in easy acceptance of his offer. 

Chat spun her around the room, much too quick for the calm tune, but as her surroundings blurred in a dizzy of colors, their laughter intertwined in the most beautiful symphony she’d ever heard. And she never wanted it to end.

She wanted to tell him everything. Every dream, every wish, every memory. But more than anything, she wanted to hear him say her name.

“Will you meet me tomorrow?” His voice interrupted her thoughts, expression nervous as he stilled their swaying bodies. His hands came to rest on her waist and she leaned closer. “Just us? I mean, really us? I--There are things to say.”

Marinette looked up into his eyes. Mystified and wondering if they could possibly both be thinking the same thing, she answered without hesitation. 

“Yes.”


	26. Undercover Date

Marinette left the bakery the next night, skirts swishing around her ankles rhythmically as the small bag at her side wafted the scent of sweet bread around her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. There was something so much more  _ scandalous _ ... something so much more  _ real _ ... about meeting Chat for a proper date wearing her normal clothes. While she loved her pants and would be loathe to ever give them up for good, there was something almost romantic about Chat seeing her like this. It was as if the same dress she’d worn to run errands with Alya the day before, suddenly felt magical because he would be seeing her in it for the first time. 

She rounded the corner to the familiar green space, a gated house with a garden left wild on the outskirts of town. Marinette had passed it many times in her explorations with Alya, but had never been inside its permanently locked gates. It was a bit of an anomaly, unused space in a town burgeoning for room, which only made Chat’s request to meet there more mysterious. With a hand trailing the high stone wall, she swung the corner only to come face to face with a very familiar smirk and her favorite pair of green eyes. 

“Bug,” he greeted her, eyes darting between her skirt and loose hair as his hand lifted to play with its wild length.

“Minou,” she responded in turn

“You look…”

“Like a girl?” She supplied with a smirk.

“Beautiful,” he said instead, leaning down to place a kiss on her cheek. “As always.”

Marinette ducked her head, blush hidden in the darkness, as she allowed Chat to take her bread bag from her shoulder and placed her hand on his proffered arm. 

“You look quite fine yourself, sir,” Marinette peered up at him, hair, for once, combed and shirt without the trademark dirt stains she’d started to think were permanent fixtures in his wardrobe. Her eyes spied what his other hand was clutching and a smile broke out over her face. “And you brought wine!”

Chat looked down to smile at her, eyes slanting mischievously. 

“Don’t tell me you’re a undercover drunkard, M’Lady?”

“Never, not I,” Marinette grinned. “I’m scandalized you would even suggest such a thing! I am a proper lady who only ever delicately sips at the refined grape,” she finished with an exaggerated lift of her chin.

“Oh, my mistake.”

“Next thing, you’ll be accusing me of wearing pantaloons, cavorting with ruffians and thugs, or even, dare I say it,” Marinette clutched his arm beneath her grasp as she turned wide eyes up at Chat. “Meeting men for secretive dates under the cover of moonlight!”

“What horror!” Chat played along. “I would never dream of accusing you of such atrocities!”

“Yes, but then for all I know of you, you are a pantaloon-wearing ruffian and thug yourself?”

“For all you know?” Chat paused, having taken them to the gate of a small  garden. It was ornate, and obviously privately owned, but with a casual ease that betrayed his familiarity with the small grotto, Chat pulled a key from his sleeve and unlocked the iron latch. He stood, beckoning her forwards with a hand as he held the entrance open and Marinette took a step into the space only to turn and grasp the gate that now separated them. Staring up at him through the wrought iron bars, Marinette cocked her head in amusement and answered his question.

“Well, Chat--whose real name can’t actually be Chat--I don’t know much about you do I? For instance, how does a lowly actor have the key to a private garden.”

“It was my mother’s garden,” he admitted, and Marinette watched as a distinctly vulnerable expression overtook his face. “And you know more of me than anyone ever has. You know the most important parts.”

“But I want to know all of it,” she admitted in kind and leaned her head against the bars as his hand lifted to cover hers where it still grasped the metal between them.

“So do I, Ladybird-whose-real-name-isn’t-Ladybird,” he replied with a smile. 

“Marinette,” she said, surprising herself, but she didn’t feel the anxiety she’d expected would come with revealing her identity. In an instant, the gate was no longer between them as Chat spun into the garden and gathered her into his arms.

“Marinette?” He repeated her name, wonderous expression on his face and she wondered why on earth she’d waited so long to tell him. Forget the wine, she could easily find herself drunk on the sound that was her name falling from his lips. 

“Marinette Dupain,” she affirmed and watched giddily as a smile broke through his features. “Daughter of bakery and business owner Thomas Dupain and Sabine Cheng. Best friend of Lady Alya Cesaire.  _ Formerly _ betrothed of Sir Luka Couffaine. Caretaker of a begrudgingly affectionate goldfish and undercover costumer and courtee of one Chat Noir.”

“Courtee?” Chat pulled her impossibly closer, his eyes shining in the starlight.

“You are courting me, are you not?.”

Chat didn’t respond, too busy spinning her in a circle and covering her face in the most fleetingly delicate kisses while she giggled. 

“Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain,” he whispered when her feet finally touched the ground again. “Yes, if you would allow me the honor, yes. Please allow me to officially court you.”

“Then tell me everything.”

“You first,” he shot back with a smile.

“Together,” she compromised.

“Together.”


	27. LOVE

Adrien looked over at Ladybird-- _ Marinette-- _ where she lay next to him in the grass. The hazy light of dawn cascaded in rivers of light through the canopy of trees and her bodice and billow of skirts were spotted by the dim rosy light. Truly his Ladybird.

They’d spent hours wandering the small garden of his mother’s ancestral home. The cottage, situated on the cusp of town, had lain barren for years, his father never seeming to be able to rent or rid himself of the small abode. Even Adrien, who remembered his fondest memories being staged under the thatched roof or high in the branches of a willowy oak tree, hadn’t been able to return to the home much; the tangible emptiness of the once vibrant home too painful to face. But something had pushed him to bring her here. Some unnamable force had directed his hand to the highest shelf in his room where the gate key had been collecting dust for years, and now he knew why.

The bread gone and the wine emptied, Marinette had told him everything. Her laughter and memories had filled the corners of the garden that for too long had withered joylessly, and Adrien felt an unmistakable sense of  _ right _ as she walked the paths, her hand trailing absentmindedly on the weather-worn stone walls or atop the wild thrush of flowers. She spoke with a quiet confidence, throwing smiles over her shoulder at him as she relayed all the stories of her life, and he found himself insatiable for more. 

He wanted all of her. He wanted to know all the dark nights and all the bright sunrises that had created the woman that lay next to him in that very moment. Adrien could listen to her mind draw the most wonderful scenes for an eternity, and he realized with a startling, but not unwelcome, certainty, that he wanted exactly that. An eternity of Marinette.

Somehow in the haze of the moonlight and through the warmth of the wine, Adrien realized that he was no longer falling in love with the woman before him. 

He loved her.

He was in love with Marinette Dupain. 

He turned his head back towards her, the dewy grass caressing his cheek as his smile widened.

“Marinette,” he spoke her name softly, watching mesmerized as her eyelids fluttered open and her chest heaved with a deep, contented sigh.

“Marinette?” He said again, her name spilling from his lips like a song and this time she turned her head to face him. Her nose less than a hand’s length from his own, he still found the distance unacceptable, and, with a quick slide, remedied that situation.

Her eyes had closed again, but her lips spread into a smile at his proximity.

“Marinette?” He spoke a third time and watched in delight as her nose crinkled in response.

“Would you stop doing that?” 

“Doing what?” He asked innocently and saw her gorgeous blue eyes peek open once more.

“Saying my name like it’s a prayer you feel compelled to repeat?” With a quirk of her eyebrow and an amused set to her mouth, Adrien knew she was joking. His answer was anything but a joke. 

“Never,” he spoke softly, but the vow was firm. “As long as the sun rises in the east, I will speak your name with the reverence it deserves.”

“Even when you’re cross at me?”

“Especially then.”

Marinette turned so that they were both laying on their sides and placed her hand on his cheek as her eyes searched his. She must have found an answer, because not a moment later her lips were on his, her hand threading into his hair as his own found their way to her waist. He didn’t know how long they lay there, any space between them evaporating along with the morning dew as he held her close, the taste of her far more intoxicating than the sweetest wine. In that moment, he would have sworn he could not possibly love the woman in his arms any more if he tried.

Then she pulled back, breath escaping her parted lips in joyful puffs along with three words he would never forget. 

“I love you.”

Adrien closed his eyes at the words, his forehead touching hers as a smile overtook his face.

“I love you,” he responded, opening his eyes just in time to catch a giddy smile wash away the nervous tension on Marinette’s face.

“I want a life with you,” she admitted, and Adrien felt his heart leap with joy. “I mean, I know it’s soon, and I know I am  _ technically _ still betrothed in society’s eyes, but I want that one day. With you.” 

And just like that, his joy turned into dread as guilt gnawed at him Despite spending the night baring his hopes and dreams to her like he had to no one before, there was so much he still hadn’t told her.

“There are still some things to discuss--” he tried to explain, searching for the words but finding them eluding his grasp at every turn.

“I know a player’s pay isn’t much, but I’m being paid too. And my dowry won’t be huge, but it will be better than nothing,” Marinette immediately tried to alleviate his fears. I would have worked, if only she knew what truly worried him.

“I’m not worried about the money--”

“Good.”

“But there’s something you should know first.”

“Like your name?” She supplied helpfully, and Adrien barely managed a nod. “Yes, I noticed that your interpretation of  _ tell me everything _ meant everything but labels and specifics. I know nearly nothing about your family.”

“My family is…” Adrien again floundered to find the right word. “Difficult,” he settled on finally. “I don’t want you to think--Well, I’m nothing like them.”

Marinette stared at him, lips pursed for a moment before speaking.

“You chose the theater to escape, just like me,” she stated, her hand cupping his cheek consolingly. “You don’t need to tell me right now. I fell in love with you as Chat, but I will love you no matter what you call yourself.”

“Adrien,” he spoke suddenly, not having made the conscious decision to tell her his name, but suddenly needing to hear her say it.

“Adrien?” She blinked over at him, her face a mask of shock as she sat up. “Is that--”

“My name,” he confirmed with a smile, rising to sit next to her. “Is Adrien, and I want a life with you too.”

Marinette flew towards him, arms flung across his shoulders as her face burrowed into the crook of his neck. He could feel the grandeur of her smile from where it pressed against his skin.

“I love you, Adrien.”

“I love you more, Marinette,” he pulled her closer. “You have no idea how much.”


	28. Forgiveness

Adrien walked Marinette home in the early morning glow, hands intertwined as they stole kisses around every corner.

“ _ No secrets _ ,” she hummed, leaning her head onto his shoulder as her pace slowed. Adrien smiled down at her contented expression and placed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“No even one?” He teased and smiled wider when she looked up at him, eyes narrowed impishly as a smirk stole over her face.

“Well, a lady always has her secrets,” she winked coming to stand in front of him and pulling him towards a gate. She quickly grabbed a key from around her neck and  unlocked it, letting the entrance swing open with a meaningful look between Adrien and the quaint but picturesque house beyond. “But you know everything important.”

“So do you,” he responded, and in his mind, she did. He’d told her more about his life than even Chloe knew, and they had lived most of it side by side. He told her about his early childhood; how it had been the definition of perfection surrounded by his parents’ love and all the trips to the countryside and freedom to explore a child could have asked for. He told her how his life had all changed in a moment, how his mother’s death had fueled his father’s anger and turned the once quietly humorous man into the vengeful creature he was today. He’d told her how he’d escaped for years, desperate to experience something more than his isolated existence; how until he stepped into the theater, he’d forgotten what it had felt like to feel  _ home _ since his mother’s death. 

He confessed that before he’d met her, he’d given up hope of finding that true sense of  _ home _ with anyone. 

“You know everything important,” he repeated.

“Good,” Marinette’s smile turned soft as she leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his lips, her eyes glimmering as if she could read his very thoughts. Sometimes when she looked at him like that, he wondered if she actually could.

“Were you really that worried?” He took a step towards her, dropping her hands as he reached absently to brush a stray lock of hair from her shoulder. “What could I have revealed that would have been so horrible?”

“Well, for all I knew you were some secret prince. Some high and lofty noble far beyond my class.”

Adrien felt his blood run cold at her words, everything he’d been trying to avoid all night arriving to slap him in the face with Marinette’s flippant words. He needed to tell her. He knew that. Ever since she’d starting talking about their future earlier in the night, Adrien knew it was well past time that Marinette knew the truth. But still, a part of him rebelled. 

_ I fell in love with you as Chat,  _ her words echoed in his mind, and Adrien was reluctant to completely give up that part of himself. She’d fallen in love with  _ him. _ She wanted to make a life with  _ him _ . Not because of his money or title. She was more than prepared to go without both, expecting it even, and that was a type of acceptance Adrien had never imagined was even possible.

“Would that matter?”

“In a simpler world? No,” she held the gate open, her body half inside as if reluctant to officially close the door on their evening. “For me, no, but for other people? I doubt some nobel’s son would ever be allowed to married a businessman’s daughter, regardless of her own dubious ties to the upper class,” she turned joking eyes on him. “You’re not some undercover duke, are you?”

“Of course I’m not a duke,” Adrien responded, hating himself for the following words even before they rolled off his tongue. “I come from humble folk.”

It was almost too easy, the half truth that fell from his lips. His mother had  _ technically  _ been from ‘humble folk’, a nearly forgotten minor nobel line of meager means. It was humbler than his father at least, but even he knew that half-truth was really a lie. His mother had been of the wealthy middle class, the daughter of a fortunate merchant and lady, but his father was a noble. Adrien was the sole heir of the Agreste line and would inherit a title. He was every bit the lofty noble Marinette was joking about. 

“So you wouldn't marry...Lord Adrien?”

“I’d marry you under any name, chaton,” she responded with a sad smile. “My parents might even forgive my slighting of  _ Sir  _ Luka if you were  _ Lord  _ Adrien, but I doubt  _ Lord Adrien _ would be able to convince his family to the merits of the match. Regardless, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about it.”

The nearby clock tower sounded then, five tolls that reverberated like the heartsick waves that moved through him. Marinette cursed as her eyes turned towards a second story window in her house. Moments later, the soft glow of candlelight shown from within.

“We’ll have to halt this play acting for another day, minou,” she turned back towards him, hesitating only a moment before capturing his lips in another far-too-short kiss. “See you tonight,  _ M’Lord. _ ”

He watched forlornly as she slipped through the gate, relocking it before skipping towards a window. With deft fingers and actions that proved he was not the only one who regularly snuck out, she opened the shutters and slid into the house. For one blissful moment, her head peeked back out and Adrien watched as she blew him a kiss, peaceful calm blanketing her face as she looked at him. The uneasiness inside him only grew, though, as he knew he was only putting off the inevitable. 

He needed to end this charade completely, before his lies caught up to him. Marinette deserved that much. 

He could only hope she’d forgive him when he did.

Turning away from the Dupain residence, Adrien walked towards his own house, his determination solidifying with each step. He’d made the decision long ago to never be without her, his father’s opinion on the match be damned, and it was time now to keep true to that promise.

Tonight. He’d tell her everything tonight. As soon as the show ended.

And then, if she would have him, he’s make it clear that he wanted to spend the rest of his life telling her nothing but the sweetest truths. 


	29. Roses

Marinette stumbled down the steps at the sound of knocking on the door. Clad in her most comfortable and least restricting dress, she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes as she passed her mother where she sat sewing on the couch. Sabine raised an eyebrow at her daughter as she moved towards the front entrance, but said nothing.

Stifling a yawn, Marinette straightened her posture and unlatched the door only to find...no one and nothing. Blinking in confusion she turned back towards her mother’s smirking face, wondering if she was going crazy or simply still asleep. 

“Did you sleep at all last night, darling?” Her mother set her embroidery on her lap and looked quizzically at her only child as Marinette’s face erupted in flames. Lest her mother find out how much she  _ hadn’t slept _ last night, her salvation came in the form of her father’s booming laugh echoing from the kitchen followed by her name. 

_ “Oh Ladybird! You have a delivery!” _

Marinette furrowed her brow in confusion, but after a quick glance at her mother’s face to see the same emotion reflected back at her, she turned towards the kitchen where the delivery entrance was. As she stepped into the warmest part of the house, she let the intoxicating aromas of the heart of their home wash over her. Her father was a businessman and owner of shopfronts throughout the city, but his true passion had always been baking. Thomas Dupain was the second son of a wealthy family, and while he didn’t inherit, he put his education to quick use and had created a wealth of his own through his business savvy. He owned a smattering of buildings in town, but his true pride and joy was the bakery. He’d grown up being doted on by the family cook, and had become an ameatueur baker himself. When he wasn’t handling finances, you could find the large man experimenting with recipes in the kitchen which he would then pass onto the head baker at the shop. Luckily, her father was actually phenomenal at thinking up concoctions and combinations and the man who ran the bakery was more than happy to accept her father’s recipes as they ended up profiting them both in the end. 

But while the delicately crafted confections were usually the centerpiece of their kitchen, that morning something far grander took center-stage. 

She looked at her father’s grinning face, obscured behind the riotous bouquet of flowers, and couldn’t help but smile at the scene before her. 

“For me?” Marinette laughed, leaning into the ridiculous and placing a hand over her heart in a surprised expression. “You shouldn’t have!”

“I didn’t,” her father assured her with a chuckle and a nod towards the messenger boy still standing in the doorway waiting for his tip. “And it looks like  _ no one _ else did, either.”

Her father placed the large bunch on the bench in the center of the room and rotated it once looking for some attached note.

“No note,” he confirmed, looking up as he gave her a wink. “But I suppose Luka doesn’t need a reason to spoil his betrothed now and then.”

Marinette felt her face color at her father’s mention of her dear friend, but no-longer husband-to-be, and quickly moved to hide her face and smell the large bouquet. 

“You assume I have no other secret admirers,” she quipped back at her Papa, still joking, but wondering how on earth she would ever explain the truth to them. She touched the petals, recognizing some of the flora from the garden Adrien had taken her to interspersed with the roses and relaxed slightly knowing he had likely picked them himself and hadn’t wasted so much money on her. She took one lone sprig of lavender, holding it close for a moment to breathe in it’s aroma before tucking it with her hair behind one ear.

“Secret admirer, you say?” Her father’s voice caught her attention once again and he placed a second coin in the messenger's hand and turned to him conspiratorially. “An extra pence if you tell us who sent you, lad.”

The small boy reached for the piece eagerly, the sender's name falling off his lips easily.

“I came from the Agreste estate, sir.”

“Agreste?”

“Sir Adrien sent me,” the boy called cheekily before turning and running back out into the street.

“Sir Adrien Agreste? Lord Agreste’s son?” Her mother finally chimed in just as her father laughed merrily.

“Seems you were right, Birdy. You do have a secret admirer!”

Marinette managed a nod and weak smile at them both despite the way her knees threatened to fold under her at the young boy’s casual response. Meanwhile, her mind was spiraling, images of the first day they met pelting her incessantly. 

_ His clean face. His orderly hair. His immaculate wardrobe.  _ Everything about his image shouted wealth, but she had simply brushed it off as a costume. Having seen the material she had to work with at the theater, she cursed herself for being so naive. 

“And he’s so handsome, too!” Her mother continued with a smile. “Not that we see him in town much, but he certainly cuts a striking figure from afar, and I hear he takes after his mother’s coloring,” Sabine had walked up next to Marinette at that point, her hand delicately brushing the soft petals of the bouquet as her eyes were lost in the past. “She was always so lovely.”

“You knew her, maman?”

“Only in passing,” she smiled, brushing Marinette’s cheek with the back of her hand. “She was one of few people who would willingly speak to me when I arrived. It’s amazing the influence a kind ‘hello’ can have on the town opinion of one newcomer.”

“I never realized,”

“Her loss was a tragedy to the whole town,”

“And only made her husband crueler,” her father grumbled in response.

“Thomas,” Sabine warned.

“Don’t act like you don’t know it’s the truth. He was at least tolerable while Lady Emilie still lived. I will never understand that match, but there seemed to be a genuine feeling between the two.”

“Oh and you would know nothing about odd matches now, would you?”

Her father grinned cheekily, bending down to place a swift kiss on her mother’s smiling lips.

“I know nothing of which you speak. I only have the finest taste in women. And so does, it seems, young Sir Adrien,” her papa winked in her direction. “Imagine Lord Agreste discovering his son sending bouquet to a businessman’s daughter. What scandal!”

“Oh hush, Tom. Clearly Sir Adrien takes after his mother and recognizes that the value of a person is not defined by their class.”

“Oh yes, because his highness  _ Gabriel _ would be delighted by a match between a landlord’s daughter and the heir to his title,” her father looked down at her mother with a dubious smile but Sabine just gave a resigned sigh.

“You’re right, I supposes,” she relented eventually, turning kind eyes on her daughter once again. “It is flattering, nonetheless. Even if you are unavailable.”

“Yes, Bird. Do make sure to let the lad down easy,” her father continued as he began to lead her mother out of the room. “Wouldn’t want him challenging Luka. Those nobels do love their duels.”

Marinette laughed weakly as her parents left the room, arms wrapped around each other’s waists despite her mother’s diminutive frame in comparison to the behemoth that was Thomas Dupain. They had such an easy love despite nothing about their match being simple, but perhaps Marinette had been lost in a childish dream to hope her and Adrien were the same. Her father was right. No matter what Adrien and she wanted and no matter how much they planned, there was no possibility that Lord Gabriel Agreste would consent to his only son and heir marrying a commoner without an ounce of nobel blood. 

_ I come from humble folk _ , he had told her last night. 

She’d bared her soul to him. She’d risked her future for him. And he had lied in return. He stood there  _ joking _ about being  _ Lord Adrien _ and still withheld the truth. How could they ever be together if falsehoods fell so flawlessly from his lips?

Marinette grabbed the bouquet off the table as the betrayal spread through her and walked out the door.

She could understand his fear of revealing the truth, but would she ever be able to forgive the lies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :X  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Also, take note that this story now has 32 parts, because I have no self-control and am in the midst of writing an epilogue ^.^


	30. Reveal

Adrien hefted himself over the back garden wall, not bothering to even check the eternally deserted alley before lowering himself on the other side of the wall with an accomplished sigh. There were some benefits to the maze of a garden his father insisted on upkeeping in his mother’s honor. Adrien had tried to remind Gabriel that his mother had much preferred wildflowers, but the more traditional and refined high hedges ended up working in his advantage anyway. Adrien disappeared  into the garden and the servants likely assumed he was just that fond of nature or, more likely, they didn’t care where the young man had run off to as long as it left the house empty. 

Adrien grinned at the thought, happy to give the servants their freedom in the house if he could. His mother would have like that thought.

His smile softened then as his hand when to the small circle of metal hanging just under his shirt at the center of his chest. He’d been thinking of his mother quite a lot lately, the joyful aura she’d always emanated seeming more and more at the forefront of his mind. Marinette had more than a little to do with that, her own love and acceptance of him a sensation he could lose himself in happily. As his fingers traced the contours of his mother’s garnet ring securely tied to a ribbon around his neck, his anticipation for tonight only intensified, hoping beyond hope that once the air was completely clear between them, Marinette would agree to surround him with such contentment... for as long as they both shall live.

Taking a deep breath to try and release the tension that came with the bundle of trepidatious excitement that coursed through him, Adrien hastily prepared his  _ Chat the commoner _ disguise. Untucking his shirt a bit at the back and mussing his hair to achieve the more disheveled look, he nodded in satisfaction before turning to walk towards the street. 

The smile flew from his face at what he saw there.

Standing in evident shock at the mouth of the alley was the person whose very existence moments ago had sent his heart racing in a joyous chorus. 

Now, it pounded for a very different reason.  

“Adrien?” Marinette called to him, her voice only an echo of its usual vibrance as she stared at him in disbelief. Her skirts blew softly around her legs as the gentle breeze passed through the buildings just as her hair wafted around her face. He recognized a flower there, a lavender spring he’d picked early that morning, hanging limply in her windblown tresses. She made no move to fix it, frozen as she continued to stare at him.

“So it’s true.”

“Marinette,” he spoke finally, taking long strides until he was in front of her, but when he caught sight of the expression looking back at him, he dared not touch. Never on her face had he seen as woebegone a look as she wore in that moment... and he and his lies had put it there. 

“Marinette,” he tried again, lifting a hand to her face, but she took a step away from him.

“M’Lord,” she responded, betrayal clear in her eyes even as he hastened to look away. 

“Don’t call me that,” he spoke finally, his voice no louder than a whisper. “You said it wouldn’t matter.”

“And you said you weren’t a noble!” She shouted back, throwing the bouquet she still held in her hands at him as she took a step forward and poked him in the chest. “You let me stand there last night, the  _ fool _ , as you joked about being  _ Lord Adrien _ . Well, the joke is on me, I suppose.”

“M’Lady, no--”

“Even after we vowed to finally be honest, all that fell from your lips were falsehoods,” her yelling vanished in that moment and her broken whisper pierced through his heart with every syllable she muttered. “Was it all a lie, Chat?”

“No, Marinette,” Adrien finally closed the space between them, his hands moving to cradle her face. “No. I would never--”

“But you did,” she insisted. “You lied to me, Adrien. You stood there and promised me  _ no more secrets _ , you promised me you were of  _ common folk _ . After I  _ promised _ to love you no matter who you were, you lied...effortlessly.”

“Not about anything important!”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” she closed her eyes, sinking into his hands for only a moment before stepping away. “But that is beside the point.”

Adrien watched as she took a step back, crossing her arms and then letting them fall at her sides again, her inner discomfort manifesting clearly in her movements. He stood motionless, helpless, until she finally raised her eyes to his again and spoke.

“Are you...Are you ashamed of me?”

“What?” His voice was shrill in the silence of the alley as he felt physically taken aback at her question. Out of all the things he expected her to say, all the accusations and declarations he would have deserved, her asking is he was  _ ashamed _ of her had never once crossed his mind. “No! Why would you ever--of course not!”

“Then why hide who you are?” Marinette looked at him with pleading eyes now, and he hated himself even more for somehow bringing forth such an insecurity in the unstoppable woman before him. She deserved so much better.

“I bared my soul to you,” she continued. “And it still wasn’t enough. What else am I supposed to think other than the obvious? That as much as you  might  _ love _ me, you could never deign to marry a businessman’s daughter? A commoner. What else could there be but shame of me? Shame of where I come from?”

“Shame of myself!” He shouted finally, desperation evident in his voice, but he didn’t care if she heard it. He  _ was _ desperate. Desperate to make her understand. Desperate for her to know that there was nothing failing in her. It was in him. It was all him. “Shame of my class. Shame of my family, of who my father is and the atrocities he commits in the bastardized name of god!”

He threw his hands up as he started to pace in the small alleyway, his frustration at himself and the situation he’d created finally overflowing, just as he feared it always would.

“Everywhere I go, on the seldom occasions I’m even allowed outside of the house, I am Lord Gabriel Agreste’s son and heir. Future Lord Agreste and, presumably, heir also to his  _ reformative _ tasks. I am looked at with awe or scorn, but Marinette,” he stopped, turning towards her then. “I am never truly  _ seen _ . But Chat…”

“Can be everything Adrien can’t”

“Exactly! Chat is  _ freedom _ ,” he dared to take a step forward. “Freedom to live a life. Freedom to have friends.  Freedom...freedom to fall in love.”

When she didn’t back away from him, he took the risk and grabbed her hands in his.

“Chat  _ is me _ . He gave me to freedom that led to you. And the thought of you ever looking at me the way people look at  _ Adrien _ . Bug... I don’t know if my heart would ever recover.”

“But I know you, by whatever name you choose to call yourself,” Marinette squeezed his hands, pulling him closer as she tucked their joined fingers against her collarbone. “I don’t care what the world calls you, or however many titles you have. I trusted you. I placed all my secrets in the palm of your hands and knew you’d keep them, and me, safe. Because I know  _ you _ , my love. Don’t ...Don’t you know  _ me _ ?”

“I was scared,” he breathed the words out, letting his forehead fall to hers in defeat.

“I know that now, but minou,” her voice hitched on the name.  “How can I trust you if you lie to me? How can I be your partner if you don’t let me see all of you, even the parts you hate?”

“I want to make this right. I need to make this right.”

“I...I may need some time.”

Adrien closed his eyes at her words, pain at the thought of losing her because of his own fear coursing through his veins.

“You were ready to run away with Chat last night,” he reminded gently.

“And then Adrien broke my heart this morning.”

Adrien cringed. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but the undeniable truth there stung nonetheless.

“I...I understand,” he managed to choke the words out even as his throat felt unbearably tight with the tears he refused to shed. 

“I love you.”

Marinette’s quiet words accompanied the soft kiss she left on his cheek before disentangling herself from his embrace.

“As I love you, ” he responded.

But as he watched her walk away, Adrien couldn’t help but fear that it wouldn’t be enough. 

 

~*~

 

The performance that night went off flawlessly, no one else seeming to noticed the uninspired performance Chat gave nor the missing costumer. Adrien, however, felt her absence keenly. 

With a forlorn wave to Nino, who seemed to know better than to invite him out for post-performance drinks, Adrien shuffled through town towards his house. Never before had he been so grateful for his knowledge of the backstreets town as he was tonight.  It allowed him to interact with exactly zero people during his journey. When he arrived at the alley behind his house, he pushed aside the threatening melancholy that came with the memories of that morning and quickly found his familiar footholds. In a matter of second, he crested the stone wall and landed with a near-silent thump on gravel path of his back garden. 

Adrien walked from out behind the hedge, expertly weaving through the maze despite the lack of light, but stopped when he reached the main clearing. When he recognized the shadow seated on the small bench there, he realized that it  _ was _ possible for his day to get even worse. The strike of flint echoed in the night and a moment later, his father’s face stared back at him, illuminated in the soft glow of the candle. 

“Where were you?” Gabriel asked without preamble. Adrien remained silent and his father sighed in resignation.

“How long will the secrecy continue, son? How long until you start to shoulder your own responsibilities instead of running from them?”

“I believe I’ve made it very clear that I will not be following in your footsteps, father,” Adrien spoke softly, but articulately. Shoulders rigid as he looked down at his father, Adrien held his ground regardless. The facts hadn’t changed. 

“Be that as it may, you are still the heir to the title. You’re position is a staple in the community, and you cannot comport yourself as a vagabond and still maintain the dignity of your post.”

“Because it’s all about appearances, isn’t it?” Adrien shook his head in disbelief, feeling his posture slump. He didn’t have the strength to argue with his father. Not tonight. So he settled for honesty instead. “You act as if mother didn’t do the same. I may have been young when we lost her, but I still remember walking the market with her every Saturday. The people loved her. They respected her, and not because they  _ feared _ her.”

“Yes, well... Emilie,” Gabriel said his mother’s name with a wistful sigh and Adrien startled at the sound of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his father speak her name. “Emilie was special.”

Adrien watched as Gabriel seemed to deflate at the sound of her name. All the pomp and circumstance he typically held so closely fading away until it was only a man sitting front of him. A man who had lost so much and had relied on the anger of his situation to sustain him. A man who was clearly exhausted of it all.

“It’s dangerous,” Gabriel finally spoke again, and Adrien couldn’t remember his father ever sounding so...open. “I’ve already lost your mother. Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you, too?”

“Probably the same thing it did to every Catholic mother, father...son and daughter whose loved one was imprisoned or worse because of your vendetta.”

Adrien watched his words as they seemed to finally impact his father. For once, he hadn’t spoken them in anger. Blanketed in the gentle safety of the night, he let the truth fall from his lips without rancor, and they finally seemed to reach Gabriel.

“Is that truly what you think of me?”

Gabriel leaned forward on his knees, his breath releasing from his body in a single defeated puff, extinguishing the light of the candle in in his hand. Through the darkness, his voice spoke again.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I take more righteous enjoyment in my job than necessary, but it is for your protection as much as it is to fulfil my duty to the crown. They took your mother from us, Adrien, and I--” his father paused to clear his throat before continuing in a hoarse whisper. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it is to lose half of your soul, and I pray you never do.”

Adrien blinked in the darkness, his body motionless at his father’s statement.

_ What it is to lose half your soul _ .

Somehow his father, who he’d assumed to be the most emotionally disconnected person he’d ever encountered, had managed to take the sensation that had been consuming him all day and put it into succinct words. That’s what it was. At the thought of possibly losing Marinette, his soul was crying out for its other half. 

Adrien heard movement and looked up at the feeling of his father’s hand on his shoulder. The moon was at his back, throwing Gabriel’s face into the shadows, but Adrien’s expression was on full display, the anguish in his eyes evident to his father. 

“Who--” Gabriel began, but hesitated as his son flinched and changed questions. 

“Where have you been going, son?” He asked again.

“Somewhere I can be free,” he responded truthfully, no longer avoiding the question. He was done with the lies. “Somewhere people accept me.”

“Somewhere...theatrical, perhaps?”

Adrien saw a glint in the darkness and knew his father was smiling. He suddenly wished he could see it. It had been so long since his father had truly smiled.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, still cognisant that Gabriel had raided the theater not too long ago. “But how did you--”

“The lines I’ve heard from your room in the last few months are most assuredly  _ not _ from your approved course of study...and you have a tendency to practice ungodly hours of the morning.” A cloud had covered the moon, and in the equalized light, Adrien just made out the quirk in his father’s eyebrow. “Our rooms are not  _ that _ far apart, son.”

“I suppose I’m not exactly quiet in my practice either,” he joked back uncertainly, the strange camaraderie with his father unfamiliar.

“No, but then you never have been a quiet child,” Gabriel responded, a laugh evident in his voice as he did. It was a bizarre tone, but not unwelcome.

“So...you approve then?”

“Absolutely not,” he responded immediately, but continued with less force. “But I refuse to formally  _ disapprove _ of something that seems to make you so happy, despite the havoc it is wrecking on your sleeping habits...and on my nerves.”

“On one condition,” he added, and Adrien tensed, prepared for the other shoe to drop. “You formally begin shadowing me. In my  _ non-reformation _ work that is,” he was quick to add before continuing with a smirk. “And that you take a guard, as inconspicuous a one that you can find, and use the front door on your next escape,” Gabriel looked down at him with a shake of the head and his following words were so paternal Adrien had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “Really, Adrien, you’re lucky you haven’t broken your neck climbing over that wall. Honestly.”

“Deal,” Adrien agreed, smiling at the exasperated tone in his father’s voice. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at his request to be guarded. He’d won such a battle tonight, and they hadn’t even  _ fought _ . “Th-Thank you, father.”

He wondered if this was all a dream. If he would wake up tomorrow to find nothing had changed. It was nearly impossible, the shift he’d seen in his father overnight. 

Adrien waited for the reprimand. The admonishment for his rebellion, the laugh that proved this compassion and honestly had all been one long joke, but it never came.

Instead, he felt his father’s hand squeeze his shoulder just as he passed. 

“Be safe, Adrien,” his words traveled to Adrien in a whisper as he left the boy alone in the garden. “And have faith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters :X !!


	31. Promise

The next days seem to pass in a blur. Adrien and the other players finished off the run of their latest show to high praise from the townsfolk, but he had trouble taking true pride in the performance. As days turned into a week, he wasn’t the only one to feel a creative slump. A part of their family had vanished, and it seemed Adrien wasn’t the only one who found that in a few short months, Marinette had made herself an inextricable part of the theater. Her costumes were the vibrancy that encapsulated them on stage, and her quiet support a backbone many had come to rely on. Even now, when the truth about their dear costumer was an open secret within the walls of the theater, not a day went by without someone wondering aloud when Bertie would be back. The questions were never directed at him. Whether it was because the knowledge of his relationship with Marinette had finally gotten around or the imposing shadow of his bodyguard, Adrien didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. 

Nino was the only one seemingly unfazed by the changes, but Adrien suspected his glowing countenance had less to do with the hole in their family and more to do with his recent  tête-à-têtes  with a certain fine Lady. In honesty, Nino’s calm probably came from him knowing more about Marinette’s current state of mind than he did with the amount of time he spent with her best friend. It seemed every afternoon, his friend was off to stroll the city by the Alya’s side, but Adrien cut him off anytime Nino offered to ask after Marinette on his behalf. Marinette had asked for time, and Adrien was determined to give her the space she needed.

Even if it was slowly driving him mad. 

It was early Thursday morn, nearly a week since he spoke to her last, when someone finally remarked on his dourness. He was laying flat on the stage, enjoying the theater without the questioning eyes of his colleagues, when Plagg’s voice called out to him from the small table where here was eating a hasty breakfast. Then again, perhaps “remarked” was too kind a word...

“Would you stop sulking already?” His gruff voice shouted. “You’re melancholy is starting to make me lose my appetite.”

Tikki snorted as she passed behind him, not pausing as she flicked the back of her husband’s ear and went on tidying the backstage.

“I find that hard to believe,” she responded, with a pointed look at the spread Plagg was slowly devouring.

“Okay, fine, but c’mon, Tiks, even you have to admit the kid is being particularly annoying--”

“Plagg,” she warned.

“Over there, sighing like the world is ending and his life is over,” he grumbled, taking another bite of his bread with cheese.

“Oh, because you certainly were never melodramatic over a girl. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Adrien lifted his head and watched as Tikki put down her broom and fixed Plagg with a stare. Arms cross and lips pursed, her incredulity was unmistakable.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s being ridiculous.”

“Really? So the love sonnets of questionable skill and borderline scandalous content I received during our first year of courtship were from a different suitor?  The carefully chosen flowers and piles of sweets from the bakery left on my windowsill each night from another one still?” Tikki looked away from her husband, whose face had turned a delicate shade of red, towards Adrien in exasperation. “Clearly I married the wrong man. My true love must still be out there wondering what he possibly did wrong.”

Plagg huffed in the corner and Tikki rolled her eyes before turning to blow a kiss towards the grumpy man.

“Fine, I was  _ also _ a lovesick idiot at your age, Adrien,” Plagg admitted to Tikki’s chuckle. “So tell me: how bad did you mess up?”

Adrien simply gave him a look and Plagg nodded.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“She said she needed...time,” Adrien grimaced at Plagg as the older man cringed in understanding.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

When they had both remained silent for a moment, Tikki cut in.

“How long has it been?”

“Nearly a week,” Adrien replied with a frown.

“And you haven’t contacted her at all? Sent a note? Nothing?”

Adrien sat up fully at the tone in Tikki’s voice and noticed with confusion a disbelieving look on her face.

“The girl asked for space, Tiks,” Plagg interjected as Adrien nodded in agreement. Tikki looked between the two of them and sighed.

“ _ Men _ ,” she muttered, turning to rumage for something in the trunk behind her. When she emerged, her arms were laden with a soft bundle wrapped in paper and tied with twine. “This is Nathaniel’s costume for next performance. My cousin finally sent it from her theater in the north, but it needs adjusting.”

Adrien blinked at her blankly and Tikki started to look annoyed.

“ _ I _ was going to take it to Marinette,” she enunciated clearly, as if speaking to a child. “But I suddenly find myself burdened by so much work. If only there were someone who could run over there for me…”

“Some strapping young lad,” Plagg caught on and turned to look at Adrien as well. “Perhaps one with  _ blonde hair. _ ”

“Wha--” Adrien scrambled to his feet. “You can’t mean--”

“Thank you for offering, Adrien!” Tikki shoved the bundle into his hands and dragged him towards the door with a strength that did not match her petite frame.

“But she wanted time!” He called, finally forming a coherent sentence as his feet crossed the threshold.

“Not  _ that _ much time,” Tikki muttered in reply. “Go. You can thank me later.”

Then, without another word, the door to the theater was shut in his face, and Adrien was left with no other option than to follow orders and pray Tikki was right. 

~*~

Adrien had imagined walking up to Marinette’s front door too many times to count. He’d imagined what it would be like if they were openly courting. What it would be like to meet her family and to formally ask her father for her hand. In none of these scenarios was Adrien dressed so shabbily, bodyguard in tow, and carrying a dress. But then, in none of the scenarios was there deafening yells echoing out towards the street from the Dupain abode either.

Shoving the wrapped bundle into his guard’s hands, Adrien ignored his genteel upbringing and pushed open the front door without preamble. His rudeness, and in fact his entire entrance, went completely unnoticed by the melee within. 

The house seemed to echo with voices. Adrien could hear quieter mutterings of distinctly female voices  bouncing towards the foyer from some room down the hall, but the loudest voices pulsated from the two men in the center of the foyer. A massive man stood with an angry glower, his low voice irritated but reasonable as a smaller, and evidently more furious, man hurled nearly incoherent insults at him. They spoke over each other, the taller man’s quiet tone no less forceful as he countered his opponents verbal attacks, but through the babble one thing became very clear.

Marinette had broken off her engagement.

Adrien stood shocked for a moment until a soft cough from next to him grabbed his attention. Turning, he came face to face with Luka. The man’s expression was outwardly indifferent, but Adrien could detect from experience the carefully concealed anger in his eyes each time the man who was obviously his father slighted Marinette or the Dupain family.

“Welcome to the war,” Luka greeted him with a cordial nod.

“What on earth--” Adrien began, eyes darting between Luka and the two feuding fathers at a loss for words. Luka smiled grimly and made quick work of recapitulating the events of the last few days for him.

“She told them...four days ago, I believe? And there hasn’t been a moment of peace since.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean her family wasn’t pleased, but while the Dupain women have descended to try and ‘talk some sense into her’, her father is trying to respect her wishes. My father,” Luka’s nose crinkled as he looked back at the man who, despite his wan frame, was no doubt related to the man next to him. “My father has not been as...receptive to the recent change in my relationship status.”

“Not that a broken engagement to Marinette isn’t a loss, but you are a man of stature and position. Surely you father would have no trouble finding you another match.”

“That would be true, had I ever shown any inclination towards marriage with any other...woman.”

Luka finished with a wink, and Adrien had no trouble catching his meaning.

“Without Marinette, I will dedicate myself to being a bachelor, at least in the eyes of society, and my father knows it. With no promise of a future heir…”

Luka trailed off, but Adrien nodded in understanding. He’d dealt with more than his fair share of the pressure that comes with continuing a family legacy.

“So, this has been all morning, but fear not,” Luka nudged his arm with his elbow. “My father will tire eventually, and she will officially be a free woman. Not for too long, though, I’m sure.”

“If that’s even what she still wants,” Adrien responded with a sigh and Luka gave him a deadpan look far to reminiscent of Tikki’s face that morning. “I really wish people would stop giving me that look.”

“She broke off her engagement for you.  _ After _ you lied to her about who you were. Do you really still question what she wants?”

“She told you about that?” Adrien asked with a cringe and Luka just raised an eyebrow at him.

“She was a nervous wreck earlier this week. Alya and I cornered her into admission,” he replied with a shrug. “Marinette is very loved and has extremely nosy friends. Get used to it.”

He couldn’t help but smile at both Luka’s clear loyalty to Marinette and his subtle acceptance that Adrien would be around long enough to need to get used to anything when it came to her life.

“She said she needed time,” Adrien repeated for the third time that day, the excuse starting to sound weak even to his ears.

“Not that much time,”Luka responded easily. “I’m sure if she hadn’t been swarmed constantly by her female relatives for every second of the last few days, she would have told you so herself.”

“You really think so?”

Adrien looked over at Luka earnestly and the other man shook his head even as an incredulous smile came to his face. 

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Apparently so,” Adrien responded with a smile of his own, but it was short lived, the father’s conversation falling into dead silence before them. Luka and his attention immediately diverted to the two fuming men as Sir Couffaine pointed a finger at Mr. Dupain.

“Fine,” he seethed, jabbing his digit into the much larger man’s chest. “But if you think your little chit of a daughter will  _ ever _ find a match like Luka, you are sorely mistaken. Good luck finding anyone else willing to take her off your hands.”

“Luckily, I don’t measure my self-worth by what men think of me,” the very woman in question announced, having broken from her relatives to enter the room from a side doorway.

“Marinette,” a shorter woman who was undoubtedly her mother cautioned, coming to stand behind her.

“No, maman. I am quite through with men who seem to think they have any right controlling the course of my life. Papa has tried to reason with Sir Couffaine, but the man seems to be either obstinate or dumb to his new reality.”

Luka snorted next to him but was quick to hide his grin behind his hand. Through the tension in the room, no one else paid the two young men by the door any mind. 

Sir Couffaine turned to the young woman, face aggressively red from anger and took a step towards her, finger still pointed in accusation.

“If you were my daughter, I would--”

In an instant, his path was blocked. In tandem, he and Luka had taken a step forward, but there was no need. Before they even reacted, Thomas Dupain had the man’s arm in a vice grip, his expression no longer accommodating.

“She is  _ not _ your daughter, Reginald,” Thomas’ voice was quiet, but the threat in his tone was clear. “And you will not even dare to breathe on her if you value your life.”

The moment his hand was released, Sir Couffaine backed away, discreetly rubbing his wrist as he spewed one last insult towards the Dupains.

“You are ruined. All of you!” He shouted, still backing towards the door. “The whole town will know of how your daughter slighted my son, and trust me, there will be no lack of rumors as to why. No one will ever want her hand.”

“I do,” Adrien spoke, taking a step forward before the man’s words even truly registered. As much as he hated to admit it, Couffaine was right. Luka was a charming, desirable suitor and above Marinette’s station. At the news that she broke off their engagement, gossip was sure to follow. To society, Marinette was only worth as much as the best match she could make. 

And as much as it grated on him, he was considered quite a catch.

“I want her, that is,” Adrien repeated, his eyes finally finding Marinette’s as she spun and finally spotted him. “If she’ll have me, of course.”

“Adrien?” Her voice was breathless, and he noted with pleasure how the anger drained from her features as she regarded him.

“And just  _ who _ the devil are you?” Reginald shouted, but Adrien didn’t spare him a glance nor waste a breath explaining himself.

“Father,” Luka announced for him, a barely concealed smile on his face as he laid a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “May I present to you Sir Adrien Agreste, only son of Lord Agreste and Marinette’s new betrothed?”

Reginald sputtered at his introduction just as a tittering of whispers caught Adrien’s attention from the doorway. He spared a glance to see a grouping of four women, all with vaguely similar features to Marinette and all staring at him in wide-eyed awe, but quickly turned his gaze back to the woman that mattered most. She seemed happy to see him, but he still searched her eyes for some validation that he was doing the right thing. He needed to know that she still wanted him and that he wasn’t putting her in another impossible decision byt stepping forward.

“Now just wait a minute,” Mr. Dupain spoke up through the chatter, hand on Marinette’s shoulder to root her in place as he stared with calculating eyes at Adrien “No one is betrothed to anyone just yet.”

The room silenced as Thomas faced his daughter’s new suitor.

“I don’t care how many flowers you send or grand declarations you make. Hell! I don’t care if you’re the bloody Prince of England, son,” he said. “We’ve already been through one broken engagement in this house, and there will not be a second. There is one thing I need to know.”

“I understand, sir,” Adrien responded, waiting for the man’s question. To his surprise, Thomas turned to his daughter. 

“Marinette,” Thomas asks uncertainty. “Do you  _ want _ to be betrothed to this young man?”

“Yes. I do,” she answered immediately and Adrien felt his heart skip.

“Are you sure?” Adrien asks in barely a whisper. His voice betraying his worry, but in that moment, it was as if only Marinette were in the room. He didn’t care who else heard him.“I know you wanted time--”

“Yes, minou,” she turned to look at Adrien with a smile, leaving her father’s grasp and grabbing his hands. “I  _ honestly _ am.” 

And as soon as the words left her lips, her knew that she meant it. Without looking away, he untied the ribbon from his neck and held the warm garnet ring between his fingers. He brought her left hand to his lips in a kiss as he looked to her for confirmation. In her eyes, all he saw was the promise of their future, and as slid the ring onto her finger, he finally sealed a promise of his own.


	32. Epilogue

When the light knock on the front door sounded through the hall, Adrien was instantly on his feet. Talking long strides towards the foyer, but trying not to run, he still reached the door before any of the servants. With a wide smile that hopefully concealed his nervous anticipation, he swung open the grand entrance and looked down to find his favorite person smiling back at him. For too long, he didn’t even dare imagine this moment, too ashamed of where he came from and then afraid that he’d ruined it all.

But things were changing. In the last month, his house was no longer the cold prison he’d come to regard it as, but a peaceful abode. While he and his father were by no means of the same opinion on all matters, he could tell Gabriel was genuinely trying to repair their shattered relationship, his crusades into town becoming less frequent and their shared meals more cordial. When Adrien had announced his engagement to the daughter of Thomas Dupain, Gabriel had managed a hesitant “Congratulations” in response. Even the mumbled _it could have been worse_ Adrien picked up as he left the room with a strained smile was more approval than the boy had ever expected to receive.

And now Marinette was on his doorstep, knowing everything there was to know, and still showing up. For their _date_.

Adrien’s eyes glanced behind her to find her married cousin, Rose, watching them both with a smirk. No more unchaperoned meetings for them. Her parents had been as lovely as she had described, but they were no less outraged at the thought of their only daughter escaping to meet a man under the cover of darkness. In fact, they were more scandalized by that than the revelation that Marinette had been dressing as a man for the last month or so to work at the theater.

Because of all the earlier subterfuge and consequential chaos, Adrien had only seen her twice in the last month, her family deciding it would be best if Marinette at least publicly took some time after breaking with Luka before being publically courted by him. Adrien wasn’t exactly pleased, far too used to seeing Marinette everyday, but he knew her parents were right. Marinette would already be under enough scrutiny as his betrothed, and he was determined to protect her reputation however he could.

So they wrote letters. Adrien, sometimes twice daily. Their messenger boy was surely swimming in coin with the amount of notes he’d been delivering to Marinette on his behalf. But as much as he loved reading her thoughts, as much as he would cherish those physical manifestations of their courtship, nothing could compare to her by his side. Yet, when the day finally arrived and she stood before him at his front entrance, he froze. Marinette thankfully came to his rescue.

“Are you going to invite us in, minou?”

“Of--Of course,” Adrien backed up with a smile, sweeping his hand as he ushered the ladies into the entryway.

“May I take your cloak, M’Lady?” He asked with a grin and Marinette smiled back at him as she nodded. He moved to stand behind her as she unclasped her cloak and stole a glance towards their chaperone, who was being helped with her own garment by Maisie, one of the servants. Taking advantage of her distraction, Adrien rested his hands on Marinette shoulders, leaning down to quickly place a kiss on her cheek. She relaxed into his chest for the briefest of moments, letting out a contented sigh, before turning to allow him to remove her cloak.

“I missed you, chaton,” she whispered. “It’s been a long month.”

Adrien reached down and grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles lightly, an acceptable touch as he felt eyes were watching them once again.

“You’re here now, Bug,” he whispered back, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. “And soon, these long separations will be over.”

She took a deep breath, her hand squeezing his forearm lightly, and smiled.

“In the meantime,” he continued in a louder voice. “Would you like a tour of your soon-to-be home?”

“Yes, please!”

“Where would you like to see first? The Grand hall? The Kitchen? The library? The--’

“The library,” Marinette and Rose responded at the same time and Adrien chuckled.

“Well, mademoiselles,” he stuck out his other arm in offering to Rose. “Follow me.”

~*~

Marinette strode through the grand house on Adrien’s arm, his words still ringing in her ears.

 _Her soon-to-be home_.

It shouldn’t surprise her, but it did. She knew she wanted to marry Adrien, and with her parents’ and his father’s, however begrudging, approval, she knew that dream would be realized, but she hadn’t quite thought of what came after. She and Luka had been in such a different situation with their elongated engagement, she’d never had to. But with Adrien it was different. With him, everything seemed to be different.

Once they wed, she’d become part of the nobility. She’d be expected to appear in court on occasion and don just as many horrendous corsets as Alya had throughout the years. She’d become a wife, and as Adrien’s mother was no longer alive, she’d also become lady of the house, in charge of running the estate. All that she walked through now would be under her command, and while she found the thought intimidating, it also excited her. The house was dreary, but clearly steeped in family history. It was begging to be turned into a home, and Marinette could just imagine the walls dressed in tapestries, the fire roaring and windows thrown open.

She could take the slate gray palate of the walls and warm it with rich burgundies and calming greens. She knew how much Adrien loved being out of doors, and she could just imagine bringing those colors inside. To their home.

Marinette was still smiling, lost in her thoughts as she analyzed the dimensions of the room when Adrien’s light cough caught her attention.

“If you’re done costuming the room, Bertie, we’ve arrived at the library,” he said with a smirk and nod towards the door they’d stopped in front of. Marinette glared at him but didn’t contradict his statement.

“You’ll thank me when it’s done,” she raised her chin with a flourish and left his arm to push through the doors herself. Her flare left her as soon as she looked around the room though, its grandeur far outshining any attempt at dramatics she might even attempt.

Marinette moved throughout the library in a trance, the shelves stretching from the ornately arched ceilings down to the slate floor, luxuriously covered in the largest oriental rug Marinette had ever seen. There was a smattering of furniture, a lounge and two armchairs huddled around a massive fireplace situated on the exterior wall, and though covered in dense draperies, Marinette could detect two large windows framing its mantle. She immediately gravitated towards the light, throwing one curtain open and turning in awe as she took in the true splendor of the room.

It was all the warmth she had imagined throughout the rest of the house concentrated in one room. From the myriad of colored tomes that sat upon the shelves, creating a rainbow that enveloped the room, to the rich leather furniture and hearty hues of the wood throughout, the library was absolutely perfect.

She had moved to run her fingers lovingly over the spine of a crimson colored book when she finally looked back towards the door to see Adrien leaning there with a secretive smile.

“What?” She asked, brows furrowing at the look on his face, but he shook his head in response.

“You belong here already,” he said at last, starting towards her.

“You did mention  this would be my home too soon,” she reminded him, absently noticing Rose settling in the far corner with a book. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a wonderful thing,” he corrected her, laying a hand over hers where it still rested on the book.  “Seeing you here...Marinette, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”

“Adrien…”

“Truly, Bug,” he continued, cutting off her words. “I never dreamed--And then for a while I feared--”

“That you’d ruined it?” She supplied.

“Yes,” he agreed with a sad smile. “We both know you let me off far too easy.”

“Of course,” she agreed with a smile of her own. They’d had this conversation numerous times through their exchanged letters, yet Adrien still seemed reluctant to believe that she’d forgiven him. Placing a hand on his cheek, she sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty,” she patted it once. “And wealthy. Your fortune doesn’t hurt either.”

“That’s the reason, is it?” His eyes slanted mischievously, holding her hand on the book in place even as she tried to pull it from its location.”

“Well, of course. It definitely couldn’t be that I was already hopelessly in love with you,” she smiled sweetly up at him. “Nor that over the last month you’ve incessantly apologized in increasingly imaginative turns of phrase.”

“You love my notes _and_ my jokes,” he countered.

“I love you,” she responded, placing a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth and using his distracted state to pull the book out from under his grasp. “The jokes I merely tolerate,” she continued, spinning away from him into the center of the library.

Adrien blinked at her in a daze before darting after her. She quickly rounded the small seating section and plopped herself in an armchair. Adrien pouted, looking between her choice of seating and the lounge that would comfortably fit the both of them forlornly. After a moment, he came  to sit by her feet, resting against the base of her chair. His shoulder leaned against her leg, and as Marinette opened the book, she let her hand fall to his head, fingers combing through his locks absentmindedly. Rose caught her eye from across the room, but said nothing.

Marinette relaxed into the chair with a smile, easily imagining an eternity of moments like this and a lifetime of this contentment.

Had she let him off easily? Probably, but her chaton was already too hard on himself. She had no desire to berate him further for his mistakes. Neither of them were perfect. They’d both made mistakes and would doubtless make more. A lifetime’s worth of mistakes and fumbles, if Marinette had anything to say about it.

And fumbling through life with Adrien by her side?

There was nothing Marinette had ever desired more.

 

~*~

Gabriel unclasped his cloak and handed it to the waiting servant with a nod. Inside the safety of his home, he let out a long-suppressed sigh, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. He’d been under mounting pressure the last few weeks, but despite his colleagues’ confusion at the seemingly sudden change in his practices, Gabriel offered no explanation. He was their superior, after all. If he decided that their _accuse first ask questions later_ stance needed to change, then their job was to carry out his wishes. No hesitation. No questions. Thankfully, his carefully cultivated fearsome reputation saw it done with minimal hesitation.

Which was honestly for the best. Gabriel still had trouble explaining his change of heart to himself.

There was no fundamental shift in belief. He was still as devout as he’d always been and wholeheartedly believed in Queen’s law. The Catholics were still traitors and it was still his duty to capture them for prosecution...but not the way he had been. His son had been right, as loathe as he’d been to listen to the young man. Gabriel had taken it a step further, carrying out his own personal vendetta. He’d wanted--he’d _needed--_ to avenge Emilie, but his wife would have never chosen this for him. She would have never asked for violence in her name. And if she’d lived to witness what his relationship with their son had become… Gabriel shuddered to imagine her fury.

In his misguided attempts to find justice for his wife and create a feared reputation that would protect his son, he’d driven away exactly what he’d been so desperately trying to shelter. Adrien had no love for his work. He had no love for the cause Gabriel served and had no desire to follow in his footsteps. Gabriel had only succeeded in pushing his son away, pushing him to view his father as a monster and their house as a prison he needed to escape from.

Gabriel could practically imagine Emilie’s reaction to how they were now. _Her boys_ , she’d always lovingly referred to them. When she was alive, they’d been a team. Gabriel was determined to make it so again; make it right...No matter how set in his ways he’d become.

Rolling his shoulders to release some tension, he began to unbutton the top his doublet when he heard a laugh echo down the hallway. No, not a laugh. A _giggle_. Gabriel felt his brows furrow, the sound so foreign in his home it took him a minute to register the reason.

Adrien’s betrothed was here today. He had mentioned the meeting at breakfast that morning, but in the havoc of the day, it had completely slipped Gabriel’s mind. He grimaced at the thought of forced niceties after the draining day he’d had, but left his doublet fastened and began to move towards the sound. He supposed it was high time he met the girl who had captured his son’s heart.

From what he’d heard, she was entirely respectable. The only child of a prominent man of middle class, no one seemed to have anything negative to say about the woman, save that she came of questionable heritage and recently broke off a betrothal. Adrien had told him as much, and her foreign mother concerned Gabriel far less than her recently jilted husband-to-be. He knew Sir Couffaine somewhat, and knew him to be a fine young gentleman, despite his father’s...questionable temperament. Gabriel could only hope that Adrien was correct when he relayed that the man was agreeable in the dissolution of his arrangement with Miss Dupain. That, and that the girl hadn’t jumped ship from Luka once she’d caught sight of Adrien’s much more sizable fortune, as he admittedly feared.

Locking his jaw, and attempting to place a neutrally pleasant expression on his face, Gabriel walked into the doorway of the library and froze in his tracks. The room was alight for the first time in...in Gabriel couldn’t remember how long. The curtains  that covered the windows framing the fireplace had both been slid open and the room seemed to glow with the colors of the books and reflection of their gold lettered spines. In the far corner sat Lady Rose Lavillant, a cousin of Miss Dupain who had also married above her station. Book perched on her barely protruding stomach as she chaperoned the young couple, she looked in his direction as he entered and nodded before looking away.

What truly caught Gabriel’s attention was his son. Adrien glowed even brighter than the room under the gaze of Miss Dupain and Gabriel could do nothing but watch in awe. A genuine smile stole over his face as he watched the girl spin away from Adrien, calling some jab he could not hear, but causing his son to chase her around the lounge chair by the fire. With a satisfied smile, Miss Dupain fell gracefully into and armchair, the _left_ armchair. After a moment, Adrien came to sit at her feet, leaning into her legs with a sigh as her hand came to rest in his hair, fingers lazily playing with the length of it.

Gabriel felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of them, his mind being transported into the past and catapulted through a cacophony of memories. How many times had he and Emilie circled each other in this very same library? How many times had his wife sat in that very chair, _her_ chair, as he lay at her feet contentedly. He remembered how she would kick off her slippers and bury her toes under his torso, claiming he was warmer and more efficient than any bed warmer.

He distinctly remembered sitting against that chair one day two decades ago, exactly as Adrien did now, as Emilie’s fingers brushed through his hair in a daze.

 _“What do you think of the name Adrien?”_ She’d asked out of the blue and Gabriel had groaned.

 _“Emmy, no more stray cats,”_ he responded. _“We practically have an army in the backyard at all times. You get too attached when you name them.”_

“ _So,”_ she hedged. _“You don’t like the name?”_

 _“It’s a lovely name,”_ he relented with a sigh. _“Which cat will be Adrien?”_

 _“Maybe the pretty black one,_ ” she began, but Gabriel could hear the laughter in her voice. _“Or...maybe it could be our son’s name.”_

Gabriel remembered how his body had jolted, the world freezing for a moment before being thrown into a tizzy. In an instant, he was on his feet, pulling Emilie with him as he spun her in jubilation. Her laughter had echoed off the walls as she held him close, their unborn child nestled between them.

As he watched the two before him now, he knew his son had a chance at the same happiness.

Gabriel took a step into the room, and the young couple seemed to startle as one, Adrien jumping to his feet with Miss Dupain following quickly in suit. He watched as she carefully closed and set the volume she’d been holding on the side table with reverence, and decided he liked the girl even more.

“Pardon my interruption,” Gabriel began, taking a few more steps into the room. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Adrien gave him a quizzical look, but after a moment reflected his soft smile.

“Father,” Adrien said. “Allow me to introduce Miss Marinette Dupain, _my betrothed_.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile wider at the pride that echoed in Adrien’s voice, but his attention was quickly captured by Miss Dupain as she rounded the chair and came to a stop before him.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Agreste,” she curtseyed briefly, but broke with decorum as she lifted her eyes and held his gaze. Gabriel took her proffered hand, and bent over it as was customary.

“Likewise, Miss Dupain,” Gabriel responded as he released her hand, surprising himself by the sincerity he felt in the statement.

“Please, call me Marinette,” she smiled up at him, her now free hand immediately seeking Adrien’s as he came to her side.

“Then you must call me Gabriel,” he said, looking to his son and and giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “We’re practically family after all.”

Adrien’s eyes shone in gratitude and Gabriel gave him a slight nod before excusing himself from the room without another word.

As he walked to his chambers, the faintest smile teased at his lips.

He stood by his earlier appraisal of the girl, but while it was still true that his son’s choice in bride _could_ have been worse, Gabriel did have to amend his statement. After seeing the two together, he realized there was a more apt measurement.

He doubted Adrien could have made a _better_ choice.

Despite the questionable beginnings of their courtship, Gabriel would have never found a more fitting match for his son.

And with a pleasant ache in his chest he couldn’t ignore, he knew Emilie would agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and anyone who has commented along the way! This story turned into much more than I expected, but I loved writing in this (admittedly altered) time period and I hope you all enjoyed reading!

**Author's Note:**

> As a commenter pointed out, different types of Ladybugs/ladybirds are indigenous to places all over, but there is an invasive species from Asia that is all over the world now. For the sake of this story, I'm assuming that is the one species that exists and it hasn't been introduced to England yet. Sabine nicknamed her daughter that using the english word from records of people’s travels to “the orient”--and that’s why the family and close friends call her “Birdy”.


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